IliSIBiiifffig^JfiiBiff^ttti'tM^^ 


iiii'jV6H>nii—iMWW<inH riJTji^ 


n     HISTORICAL.     TALES. 

<0) 


i^- 


WAREHAM  CHASE. 


Page  141. 


TALES 


FBOM 


ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

I'ar  Ci]ili>r£it. 


Bk 

AGNES    STRICKLAND, 

•  a*7Ut    Of     "LI7ES     OF     THB     QirZKNB     Of     E!(JLAHB 

ETC.,     ETC. 


ftra    jjrob4rijr€9 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PORTE  K    &    C  GATES. 


UMVER^TV  OF  CAUFORNIA 
feAMA  BARBARA 


3a. 8 


CONTENTS. 


rial 


Quthred,  the  Widow's  Slave ;   a  Story  cf  the  TimsB  of 

Alfred  the  Great, » 

The  Koyai  Brothers;   a  Story  of  the  Times  of  Kichard 

the  Third, 45 

Tl.e  Chase  of  "Warcham ;  the  Story  of  King  Edward  the 

Martyr, 126 

The  Sons  of  the  Conqueror;  a  Story  of  the   Times  of 

William  the  First, 151 

Wolsey  Bridge ;   a  Story   of  the   Times  of  Henry  the 

Eighth, 168 

The  Judgment  of  Sir  Thomas  More ;   in  the  Time  of 

Henry  the  Eighth, 201 

Lady  Lucy's  Petition ;   a  Story  of  William   the  Third 

and  Queen  Mary, 224 

flistorical  Summary  to  each  Story, 238 


PREFACE. 


HisTORT,  which  may  be  regarded  as  an  inex- 
haustible treasury  of  entertainment  and  informa- 
tion, containing  as  it  does  the  records  of  past  ages, 
and  of  every  important  event  connected  with  the 
rise  and  fall  of  nations,  and  abounding  with  inci- 
dents of  such  extraordinary  interest,  that  the  pa- 
ges of  few  works  of  fiction  can  offer  any  thing  so 
attractive,  is  seldom  presented  to  the  youthful 
reader  in  an  agreeable  form. 

A  barren  chronology  of  monarchical  successions, 
bloody  wars,  and  dry  political  intrigues,  comprise 
generally  speaking,  the  contents  of  the  historical 
works  prepared  for  the  use  of  schools,  from  which 
the  reluctant  student  turns  with  weariness  and 
distaste. 


6 


PREFACE. 


Such  volumes  resemble  the  charts  iu  which  nav 
igators  delineate  the  barren  ranges  of  hills  that 
form  the  leading  features  of  a  country,  while  the 
soft  undulations  of  the  fertile  valleys,  the  verdant 
groves,  flowery  plains,  and  pleasant  streams,  are 
absent  from  the  picture. 

It  is  the  object  of  the  present  work  to  offer  to 
the  Young  a  series  of  moral  and  instructive  tales, 
each  founded  on  some  striking  authentic  fact  in 
the  annals  of  EngUsh  History,  in  which  royal  or 
distinguished  children  were  engaged ;  and  in 
which  it  is  the  Author's  wish  to  convey,  in  a  pleas- 
ing form,  useful  and  entertaming  information  il- 
lustrative of  the  manners,  customs,  and  costume  of 
the  era  connected  with  the  events  of  every  story  ; 
to  which  is  also  added,  an  Historical  Summary, 
which  the  Author  recommends  to  the  attention  ot 
the  juvenile  reader,  as  containing  many  interest- 
ing particulars  not  generally  to  be  met  with  in 
abridged  histories. 


A    STORy    OF    THE    TIMES    OF    ALFRED    THE    GREAT. 


Will  it  be  credited  by  the  youthful  reader,  that  in 
this  now  free  and  happy  land,  slaves  were  once 
bought  and  sold  with  as  little  remorse  as  cattle  are  in 
the  present  day  transferred  from  one  master  to  anoth- 
er ?  Strange  and  revolting  as  it  must  appear  to  eve- 
ry lover  of  his  country,  such  was  once  the  existing 
practice,  not  only  in  the  remote  ages  when  the  dark- 
ness of  heathen  barbarism  overshadowed  the  British 
islands,  but  even  in  the  reign  of  the  benevolent  and 
enlightened  Alfred,  under  whose  auspices  law  and 
justice  were  established  in  forms  so  pure  and  equita- 
ble, that  many  of  his  institutions  have  been  handed 
down  to  us  from  our  ancestors  as  the  noblest  legacy 
;n  their  power  to  bestow. 

Civilization,  it  is  true,  made  a  great  progress  during 
the  era  of  this  accomplished  monarch,  but  he  had  so 
many  difficultit?  to  contend  with,  and  so  many  prcju 


10  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

iices  to  overcome,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  il 
some  abuses  remained  unreformed,  and,  among  others, 
this  inhuman  traffic. 

There  were  few  occupiers  of  land  m  those  days 
who  were  not  possessed  of  thralls,  or  domestic  slaves, 
who  were  distinguished  from  the  hired  servants  by 
the  degrading  badge  of  an  iron  collar,  on  which  was 
inscribed  the  name  of  the  hapless  bondman,  with  the 
notification  that  he  was  the  purchased  or  the  born 
thrall,  whichever  it  might  happen  to  be,  of  such  a  per- 
son, of  such  a  place. 

The  tale  I  am  about  to  relate,  which  is  founded  on 
a^i  authentic  historical  fact  of  this  nature,  is  an  illus- 
trative sketch  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  An- 
glo Saxons  and  Danes,  during  that  glorious  period  of 
our  annals,  the  age  of  Alfred  the  Great,  in  whose 
reign  its  events  took  place. 

One  bright  autumnal  morning  about  eleven  o'clock, 
the  hour  at  which  our  Saxon  ancestors  usually  took 
their  principal  meal,  just  as  the  family  and  serving- 
folk  of  the  Saxon  franklin,*  Selwood,  were  seating 
themselves  at  the  well  covered  board,  a  loud  barking 
from  the  watch  dogs  that  guarded  the  homestead,  an- 
Bweied  by  the  low,  but  more  angry  growling  of  the 

*  A  Saxon  freeholder,  or  gentleman,  who  was  possessed  of  one  or  man 
kydesufland.     A  hjde  contains  100  acics.  , 


GUTHRED.  IJ 

household  curs  under  the  table,  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  strangers. 

Selwood,  who  was  beginning  to  carve  for  his  house- 
hold, paused  to  listen,  and  grasped  his  huge  knife 
with  a  firmer  hold,  as  though  he  meditated  using  it  as 
a  weapon  of  defence  in  case  of  approaching  danger. 
His  serving-folk,  who,  according  to  the  custom  of 
those  days,  sat  at  the  same  table  with  their  master, 
but  below  the  salt,  started  from  their  seats  on  the 
rough  oaken  benches  that  surrounded  the  lower  end 
of  the  board,  laid  hands  on  scythes,  fiails,  or  reaping 
hooks,  and  exclaimed  in  alarm,  '  The  Danes  be 
upon  us  ! ' 

So  contiguous  indeed  was  the  town  of  Whitting- 
ham,  near  which  the  farm  and  homestead  of  Selwood 
were  situated,  to  the  Danelagh,  or  Danish  colony, 
that  had  established  itself  in  great  power  in  Nor- 
thumberland, that  perpetual  fear  existed  in  the  minds 
of  the  franklin  and  his  household,  lest  their  danger- 
ous neighbours  should  at  any  time  think  proper  to 
break  the  hollow  truce  then  subsisting  between  the 
Saxons  and  Danes,  and  pay  him  one  of  their  predato- 
-y  visits. 

The  Danish  settlements  were,  in  fact,  neither  more 
nor  less  than  so  many  formidable  hordes  of  rapacious 
banditti,  always  ready  to  give  and  take  offence,  and 
on  the  look  out   for   plunder.     Thev   were   a   cruel 


12  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

faithless  race,  in  whose  promises  no  reliance  could  be 
placed,  and  whose   only   occupation   consisted  in  ra 
pine  and  deeds  of  blood. 

The  industrious  habits  and  peaceful  employments 
of  the  Saxons,  who,  having  become  naturalized  to  the 
soil,    had  abandoned   the   warlike  manners    of   their 
fierce  ancestors  for  the  useful  pursuits  of  the  shepherd 
and  the  husbandman,  were  sorely  interrupted  by  the 
incursions  and  ravages  of  the  '  black   strangers,'   as 
ihe  invading  Danes  were  emphatically  styled,  from 
ihe  sable  hue  of  the   vessels   which  brought  this  un- 
welcome swarm   of  northern  robbers  to  the  shores  of 
England,  where  they  first  arrived  in  the  reign  of  Eg- 
bert, and  from  that  time  contrived  to  obtain  a  footing 
in   the   country,   and,  being   yearly   reinforced    with 
fresh  bands  of  adventurers  from  the  coasts  of  Den- 
mark and  Norway,  they  continued  to  gain  strength, 
and  at  length  establishing  themselves,  side  by  side  as 
it  were,  of  the   Saxons,  rendered  themselves  the  ter- 
ror of  the  peacefully  disposed,  and  the  scourge  of  the 
whole  country.     '  They  are  always  before  us,'  says 
the  Saxon  ch,-onicler ;  '  we  always   see   the   horizon 
reddened    with    flame,   we    always    hear   the    tramp 
of  war.' 

At  the  period  of  Alfred's  accession  to  the  throne, 
nine  pitched  battles  were  fought  in  one  year,  between 
the  English  and  the  Danes,  besides  skirmishes  and 


GUTHRED.  13 

private  conflicts  innumerable.  Somet-anes  the  Danes 
were  defeated,  but  after  each  reverse  they  appeared 
tG  redouble  their  activity,  and  actually  increased  in 
power.  '  If  thirty  thousand  are  slain  in  one  day 
said  the  despairing  Saxons,  '  there  will  be  double  that 
number  in  the  field  to-morrow.'  Sometimes,  when 
the  Saxons  found  themselves  unable  to  cope  with 
their  formidable  opponents,  they  were  unwise  enough 
to  endeavour  to  purchase  a  shameful  peace  with  gold; 
but  the  bribe  was  no  sooner  in  the  possession  of  the 
greedy  barbarians,  than  they  violated  the  dear-bought 
treaty,  and  committed  all  sorts  of  violence,  for  the 
sake  of  extorting  fresh  sums  of  money. 

The  appearance  of  a  Danish  holda,  or  chief,  ap- 
proaching the  homestead  of  Selwood,  though  only  at- 
tended by  a  boy  of  tender  years,  who  was  leading  a 
brace  of  wolf-hounds  in  a  leash,  was  sufficient  to 
spread  dismay  through  the  dwelling. 

There  was  an  immediate  consultation  between  Sel- 
wood and  his  wife,  Winifred,  as  to  whether  they 
should  treat  the  unwelcome  visitor  as  an  enemy,  by 
refusing  him  admittance  into  the  homestead,  which 
doubtless  he  approached  in  the  quality  of  a  spy,  or, 
as  ne  came  in  a  peaceful  guise,  choose  the  alternative 
of  conciliating  his  friendship,  by  receiving  him  as  a 
guest.     '  He  is   a   stranger,   and   as  it  is  meal  time  it 


14  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

would  be  churlish  to  deny  him  entrance,'  said  Se. 
wood,  '  albeit,  I  would  with  greater  pleasure  invite  a 
wolf  to  be  my  dinner  guest.' 

'  The  wolf  would  be  the  less  dangerous  visitor  of 
the  two,  I  trow,'  said  the  careful  Winifred,  pocketing, 
as  she  spoke,  the  silver  ladle,  with  which  she  was 
preparing  to  help  herself  from  the  bowl  of  plum  por- 
ridge which  stood  before  her. 

Swindreda,  her  niece,  was  in  the  very  act  of 
whisking  away  the  porridge  also,  muttering  as  she 
did  so,  '  that  she  had  never  taken  the  trouble  of  com- 
pounding such  a  dainty  dish  to  tickle  the  palate  of  a 
Danish  raven,  for  whom  swine's  flesh  and  barley 
broth  were  more  than  good  enough,'  when  the  holda, 
whose  quick  eye  had  caught  the  manoguvre  as  he  en- 
tered, called  out,  '  Holla  there,  maiden  !  is  it  your 
Saxon  fashion  to  remove  the  best  part  of  the  cheer 
when  a  stranger  surprises  you  at  your  meals  ?  Now, 
that  is  the  very  dish  whereof  I  mean  to  eat.  So  say- 
ing, he  snatched  it  from  her  hand,  and,  placing  him- 
self at  the  seal  of  honour  at  the  table,  he  took  a  horn 
spoon  from  one  of  the  serving  men,  and  devoured  the 
contents  of  the  bowl  in  a  trice,  with  the  exception  of 
a  small  portion,  which  he  left  at  the  bottom  of  the 
vessel,  ar>d  handed  over  his  shoulder  with  a  patroni- 
zing air  to  his  youthful  attendant,  who  stood  behind 
his  stool,  still  holding  the  hounds  in  leash. 


GUTHRED  ib 

Guthred,  for  so  the  Danish  chief  called  the  boy,  re- 
ceived this  mark  of  favour  willi  a  sullen  and  reluc- 
tant air,  and  maintained  a  proud,  cold  demeanour,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  Saxon  servants,  who  knew, 
from  the  iron  collar,  and  other  unequivocal  badges  o( 
slavery  about  his  person,  that  the  boy  was  in  a  more 
degraded  condition  than  themselves,  being  the  pur- 
chased thrall  or  slave  of  Ricsiaf  the  Dane. 

Ricsig  appeared  by  no  means  an  unkind  master, 
for  he  took  some  pains  to  supply  both  the  cravings  of 
his  hounds,  and  the  probable  wants  of  his  young 
slave,  with  the  choicest  provisions  on  the  franklin's 
table,  without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
feelings  of  the  indignant  host  and  mortified  house- 
hold ;  but  it  was  thus  that  the- insolent  northmen  con- 
ducted themselves  when  they  entered  the  dwellings 
of  the  peaceful  Saxons,  who  very  seldom  ventured  to 
remonstrate  with  their  unwelcome  guests,  lest  they 
should  draw  upon  themselves  a  still  more  formidable 
visitation  in  the  shape  of  fire  and  sword,  taking  it  for 
granted,  that  where  one  Dane  made  himself  visible, 
ten  more  at  least  were  lurking  within  call,  in  readi- 
ness to  espouse  any  quarrel  in  which  he  might  in- 
volve himself.  It  was  this  a])prehension  that  with- 
held Sehvood  and  his  men  from  expelling  the  insolent 
intruder,  who,  after  astonishing  all  parties  with  his 
voracity,  laid  hands  on  a  curiously   carved    drinking 


16  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

jiorn,  which  Swindreda,  in  her  anxiety  to  secure  the 
plum  porridge,  had  forgotten  to  remove,  and  calling 
for  metheglin,  emptied  and  replenished  it  so  often 
with  this  heavy  beverage,  that  he  soon  got  into  high 
good  humour,  and  after  bestowing  great  commenda- 
tions on  the  beauty  of  the  horn,  he,  instead  of  taking 
possession  of  it  by  sticking  it  into  his  girdle,  beside 
his  battle  axe,  as  too  many  of  his  countrymen  in  such 
case  would  have  done,  actually  offered  to  purchase  i 
of  Selwood. 

'  It  is  the  horn  of  my  fathers,'  said  the  Saxon,  '  and 
if  I  sell  it  to  thee,  it  shall  be  for  nought  less  than 
gold.' 

'  Gold,'  echoed  the  Dane  scornfully,  '  dost  think  I 
I  am  a  Saxon  monk,  to  carry  coined  pieces  in  my 
girdle  ?  My  wealth,'  added  he,  significantly  grasping 
the  handle  of  his  battle  axe,  '  is  in  the  purses  of  my 
enemies.' 

'  That  is  to  say,'  rejoined  Selwood,  '  that  you 
mean  to  carry  off  my  cunningly-wrought  drinking 
horn,  as  a  reward  for  my  hospitality  to  thee  and  thy 
thrall.' 

'  Said  I  not  that  I  would  purchase  it  of  thee  ?'  de- 
manded Ricsig. 

'  Ay,  but  what  art  thou  willing  to  give   me  in  ex 
fhange  ?"  said  the  franklin. 

'  Thou  shal*  choose  whether  thou   wilt   have  mv 


GUTHRED.  17 

houud,  Snath  ;  his  fleet-footed  companion,  Will, 
biach  ;  or  my  thrall,  Oulhred,'  replied  the  holda  ; 
'  all  three  have  displeased  nie  this  morning  :  the  two 
first  led  me  hither  on  a  false  track  of  deer,  and  the 
latter  hath  perversely  refused  to  eat  of  the  food  which 
I  flung  him  even  now  from  my  own  trencher  ;  so 
choose  between  them,  for  the  horn  is  now  more  pre- 
cious in  my  sight  than  either.' 

Selwood's  judgment  was  assisted  in  making  his 
election  by  a  hint  from  the  most  prudent  of  house- 
wives, the  thrifty  Winifred,  who  whispered  in  his 
ear,  '  Curs  have  we  more  than  plenty,  master  mine, 
for  they  only  encourage  the  serving  folk  in  idle  pas- 
times, and  serve  as  a  cloak  to  conceal  their  wastery 
when  the  oaten  cakes  wax  mouldy  or  the  meat  is  too 
fat  for  their  liking  ;  but  we  are  in  need  of  a  boy  to 
tend  the  swine  and  sheep,  and  to  do  many  othei 
things,  so  choose  the  young  thrall,  who  is  a  stout 
healthy  lad,  and,  if  discreetly  trained,  will  do  us 
worthy  service  both  in  and  out  of  doors.' 

No  sooner  had  Selwood  signified  his  choice  to 
Ricsig,  than  the  barter  was  completed  by  the  Dane 
iaking  the  boy  by  the  collar,  and  transferring  him  to 
his  new  master  in  these  words  : 

'  I,  Ricsig,  give  to  thee,  Selwood,  Guthred  my 
elave,  to  be  thy  thrall   for   ever.'      Then  tuckir.g  th« 


18 


HISTORICAL    TALES 


drinking  horn   into  his  beh,  he  strode  out  of  the  Sax 
on  homestead,  whistling  to  his  dogs  to  follow. 

Gulhred  flung  himself  on  the  ground  and  wept. 

'Nay,  cheer  up,  my  dainty  bird,'  said  Winifred 
compassionately,  '  thou  wilt  have  no  cause  to  lament 
thy  change  of  masters,  I  promise,  if  thou  wilt  be  a 
dutiful  and  pains-taking  slave.' 

Guthred  redoubled  his  tears,  and  at  length  sobbed 
audibly. 

'  Thou  didst  not  seem  so  loving  to  thy  Danish  mas- 
ter that  thou  shouldst  bewail  a  separation  from  him 
thus  passionately,'  observed  Swindreda. 

'Loving  to  him!  '  echoed  the  boy  indignantly,  his 
large  dark  eyes  flashing  through  his  streaming  tears 
as  he  spoke,  '  loving  unto  a  Dane, — to  my  born  foe  ? ' 

'  Why  then,  thou  shouldst  rejoice  in  thy  change  ol 
thraldom,'  said   Winifred. 

'  If  is  for  my  thraldom  that  I  weep,'  replied  Gulh- 
red, '  for  I  was  free  born,  and  am  no  more  disposed 
to  serve  a  Saxon  churl  than  to  be  the  slave  of  a  Da- 
nish robber.' 

'  High  words  do  oft  proceed  from  an  empty  stom- 
ach,' observed  his  new  master,  sternly  ;  '  but  I  counsel 
th^e,  boy,  to  stint  t'.y  perverse  prating,  which  can  an- 
swer no  other  purpose  than  to  bring  the  thong  across 
thy  shoulders.' 

'  Thy  women  folk  pestered  me  with  questictis,  or  I 


GUTHRED.  IS 

had  only  wept  in    silence,'    replied    Guthred    scorn- 
fully. 

'  Women  folk,  indeed  ! '  cried  Svvindreda,  giving 
him  a  smart  box  on  the  ears.  •  I'll  teach  thee  to  use 
more  respectful  language  of  thy  betters,  and  let  ihee 
know,  withal,  that  it  is  not  the  business  of  a  thrall  to 
weep,  but  to  work.' 

'  It  is  well  for  thee  that  thou  art  a  woman,  though 
an  ill-favoured  one,  or  I  had  returned  thy  hard  blow 
with  usury,'  retorted   Guthred,  clenching  his   hand. 

Swindreda  was  preparing  to  inflict  summary  ven- 
geance on  the  imprudent  railer,  but  Winifred  hu- 
manely interposed  to  prevent  the  visitation  of  her 
wrathful  displeasure,  by  sending  her  to  feed  the  pou. 
try,  while  she  herself  proceeded  to  instruct  the  new 
ly-purchased  slave  in  some  of  the  household  duiies 
which  he  would  be  required  to  perform. 

On  the  following  day,  Selwood  ordered  his  shep 
herd,  his  neatherd,  swineherd,  and  woodcutter,  to  put 
him  in  the  way  of  becoming  a  useful  assistant  in  their 
several  vocatoins,  but  Guthred  was  sullen  and  refrac- 
tory with  the  men,  and  rebellious  to  the  women  ;  the 
authority  of  both  was,  of  course,  enforced  by  harsh 
measures, and  the  young  thrall  was  compelled  to  yield 
reluctant  obedience  after  repeated  chastisements  ;  thus 
entailing  upon  himself  severe  personal  suflerings  \r, 
addition  to  the  hardships  of  servitude. 


20  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Ills  foreign  accent  and  comlpexion,  so  difTereii 
from  tlial  of  his  Saxon  masters,  had  obtained  foi 
Gulhied  the  name  of  the  Son  of  the  Stranger,  a  des- 
ignation by  no  means  hkely  to  improve  his  condition 
among  the  Saxon  serfs  and  ceoris,  who  had  suliered 
loo  deeply  from  the  aggressions  of  the  Danes  to  be 
disposed  to  regard  any  foreigner  with  favourable  eyes. 
Guthrcd  was  exposed  to  many  taunts  from  the 
serving  folk,  on  account  of  his  persisting  in  wearing 
his  dark  hair,  flowing  on  his  shoulders,  in  its  natu- 
ral length,  and  rich  luxuriance  of  spiral  ringlets. 
Long  hair  was  only  worn  by  persons  of  noble  or  roy- 
al birth;  and  though  Gulhred  had  refused  to  declare 
his  birth  and  lineage,  he  assumed  this  envied  distinc- 
tion, to  the  infinite  displeasure  of  his  associates  in  la- 
bour, who  had  more  than  once  seized  upon  him,  and 
forcibly  shorn  these  aristocratical  honours  from  the 
proud  head  of  the  youthful  slave;  and  when  their 
mistress  interposed  her  authority  to  prevent  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  outrage,  they  vented  their  spleen  in  ad- 
dressing him  by  the  title  of  '  high  and  mighty  thane,' 
whenever  they  required  him  to  perform  the  most  ser- 
vile offices. 

Guthred  once  smiled  in  scorn  at  the  insult,  and  told 
his  tormentors,  '  that,  like  ignorant  churls  as  they 
were,  ihcy  addressed  him  by  a  title  far  below  tha! 
ivhich  was  his  due.' 


GUTHRED.  21 

But  thii  intimation  drew  upon  him  a  toirent  o, 
such  bitter  mockery,  tha'  from  that  time  forward  he 
preserved  a  contemptuous  silence  when  assailed  by 
the  taunts  of  the  serfs. 

The  long  weary  winter,  the  hardest  time  of  bon- 
dage that  Guthred  had  yet  sustained,  passed  away, 
and  the  sweet  season  of  spring  once  more  clothed  the 
Northumbrian  fields  with  verdure,  and  enamelled  the 
pastures  with  flowers.  It  was  some  relief  to  the  per- 
secuted thrall  of  Selwood,  when  he  was  separated 
from  the  rude  churls,  and  employed  in  the  solitary  of- 
fice of  keeping  the  sheep  on  the  extensive  downs, 
heath-clad  hills,  or  pleasant  meads ;  but,  lovely  as 
these  scenes  were,  the  sick  heart  of  the  young  exile 
fondly  yearned  after  the  wild  and  rugged  scenery  o( 
the  far  distant  laniof  his  fathers,  whose  eternal  for- 
ests of  sombre  pines  and  chains  of  barren  moun- 
tains, he  preferred  to  the  oaken  glades,  and  the  ver- 
dant hills  and  dales  of  the  fertile  island  of  the  west, 
of  which  he  had  become  an  unwilling  denizen.  The 
land  was  indeed  fair;  but  to  him  who  has  neither 
sympathies  nor  companionship,  the  most  smiling  land- 
scape becomes  a  dreary  desert. 

Had  Guthred  ever  felt  ihe  divine  influence  of  reli- 
gion he  might  have  supported  hi--  early  sorrows  with 
resignation ;  for,  though  companionless,  he  would 
aave  known  that  he   was  not  alone,  thai  he  was  up- 


22  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

held  by  the  everlasting  arm  of  his  Father  a^id  hia 
God,  and  would  have  learned  in  every  dispensation^ 
however  afflicting,  to  recognise  his  hand;  but  he  had 
neeu  born  in  a  heathen  land,  and  the  light  of  Chris- 
tianity had  never  dawned  on  his  benighted  mind. 
Selwood  and  his  household,  indeed,  were,  nominally 
speaking,  Christians ;  but  their  creed  and  practice 
were  so  corrupted,  and  interwoven  with  pagan  super- 
stitions and  idolatries,  that  they  were  scarcely  in  less 
darkness  than  the  young  heathen,  whose  aversion  to 
their  mode  of  worship  excited  their  anger  and 
contempt. 

Guthred  only  disliked  their  mode  of  worship  be- 
cause it  was  theirs,  for  he  had  never  deigned  to  ex- 
amine into  the  nature  of  their  belief;  from  his  own 
he  drew  no  consolation  ;  it  was  raade  up  of  shadowy 
recollections  of  gigantic  idols,  before  whose  images 
he  had  been  taught  by  his  father  to  bow  the  knee  in 
the  depth  of  gloomy  groves.  His  remembrance  re- 
called their  terrific  forms,  but  of  their  attributes  he 
retained  no  idea,  though  he  was  occasionally  wont  to 
invoke  them  as  the  avengers  of  his  wrongs,  when  in- 
jured by  his  Danish  or  Saxon  task-masters. 

One  day,  when  a  war  of  wcrds  between  him  and 
Swindreda  had  ended  in  his  stubborn  refusal  to  draw 
water  at  her  behest,  and  a  severe  corporeal  punish" 
•nent  fiom  the  franklin  had  compelled  him  to  submis* 


GUTIIRED.  23 

sion,  he  proceeded  to  the  sheepfold  with  a  swelling 
heart,  and  throwing  himself  upon  the  ground,  called 
aloud  upon  Thor  and  Woden  to  bring  destruction  up- 
on Selwood  and  his  whole  household. 

He  paused,  partly  exhausted  by  the  violence  of  his 
transport  of  fury,  and  partly,  perhaps,  from  a  sort  of 
undefined  expectation  of  receiving  an  answer  to  his 
vengeful  invocation.  It  came  ;  but  neither  in  the  up- 
roar of  the  elements,  nor  the  rush  of  the  chariot 
wheels  of  the  destroyer  careering  through  the  air  ; 
but  in  the  soft  low  voice  of  compassionate  expostula- 
tion. He  raif-ed  his  face  from  the  earth,  and  perceiv- 
ed  a  stranger  beside  him,  whose  majestic  form  and 
mild  countenance  impressed  him  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  a  being  of  a  different  order  from  the  rude  and 
savage  men  with-  whom  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
associate. 

'  Unhappy  boy  ! '  said  the  stranger,  '  upon  whom 
hast  thou  called  ? ' 

'  On  the    gods    of  my    fathers,'    replied    Guthred. 
'  Those  whom  mine  own  people  worshipped  within 
the  strong  circles  of  their  power,  and  on  whose  rough 
hewn  altars   my  father  was   wont  to   pour  forth  the 
blood  of  his  slaughtered  foes.' 

The  stranger  shuddered.  '  Alas,  poor  child  ! '  said 
he,  '  and  canst  thou  believe  that  such  inhuman  sacri- 
fi'-es  could  be  acceptable   to  ihe  beneficent  Creator  of 


2^  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

this  beautiful  world,  which  he  has  formed  for  the  hap 
piness  and  delight,   of   his  creatures,   whom  he   has 
commanded  to  love   one  another,  and  to  worship  him 
in  the  beauty  of  holiness,  not   with  polluted  hands 
and  bloody  rites  ?  ' 

Guthred  looked  perplexed,  for  the  language  of  the 
stranger  was  incomprehensible  to  him.  At  length  he 
said,  '  It  was  to  Thor  and  Woden  these  sacrifices 
were  offered  by  my  father.  To  them  the  savour  ol 
blood  is  sweet,  for  they  are  called  the  Destroyer 
and  the  Avenger.  Oh  that  they  would  bring  fire 
and  sword  upon  the  homestead  of  Selwood  the 
Saxon  ! ' 

'  Thy  guilty  prayer  is  such  as  might  indeed  be  ex- 
pected from  the  lips  of  a  benighted  worshipper  of  the 
powers  of  evil,'  replied  the  stranger  ;  '  but  know,  my 
son,  that  in  offering  homage  to  Thor  and  Woden  you 
are  acting  in  direct  rebellion  to  the  Lord  and  Giver  ol 
Life,  and  the  Supreme  Euler  of  the  Universe,  and  are 
provoking  his  wrath  to  visit  you  with  those  maledic- 
tions which  you  impiously  call  down  upon  your  en- 
emies.' 

'  I  cannot  be  more  wretched    than   I  am,'  replied 
Guthred,  '  nor  suffer  greater  reverses :  for  I,  who  was 
born  a  prince,  am  now  the  slave  of  slaves.'     He  bow 
ed  his  face  once   more  upon  the  earth,  and  lifting  up 
hi?  "oiee,  wepl  aloud. 


GUTHRED.  25 

The  stranger  allowed  his  passionate  grief  to  vent 
Itself,  without  interruption,  for  some  moments,  and 
then  drawing  Guthred  to  him,  he  addressed  him  in 
words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement. 

The  soothing  tones,  and  language  of  compassion 
and  tenderness,  were  new  to  the  ears  of  the  youthful 
slave ;  but  they  made  their  way  to  his  heart,  and  mel- 
ted the  obdurate  pride  which  had  always  prompted 
him  to  oppose  violence  to  violence,  and  to  return 
wrong  for  wrong,  and  with  the  confiding  frankness  of 
childhood,  he  fiung  himself  into  the  arms  of  his  un- 
known comforter,  and  wetted  his  bosom  with  his  tears. 

'You  say  you  were  born  a  prince,'  observed  the 
stranger,  after  a  pause.     '  Whence  come  you  ? ' 

'  From  the  land  of  the  dark  forest  and  the  snow- 
clad  mountain,'  replied  Guthred,  with  a  flushing  cheek 
and  kindling  eye,  from  Lethra*,  where  my  father, 
Hardacanute,  was  a  king  and  a  warrior ;  and  I,  his 
heir,  was  brought  up  on  the  knees  of  the  valiant, 
served  by  the  hands  of  the  noble,  and  lulled  to  sleep 
by  the  songs  of  the  bards,  who  told  of  the  deeds  ol 
my  great  forefather,  the  mighty  Odin,  whose  coal- 
black  eye  and  raven  hair,  they  said,  resembled  mine. 
But  Halfdane  and  Hubba,  the  fierce  sons  of  Regnei 
Lodbrok,  came,  like   a  wintry  torrent,  spreading  wo« 

•  Lethrii,  a  p Kviiice  of  ancient  Sweden. — Palgrav«. 


26  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

and  desolation  through  my  native  Lethra,  and  having 
slain  my  sire,  and  burned  his  cities,  they  bore  me,  a 
helpless  sorrowing  child,  from  the  place  of  my  birth 
and  the  kingdom  I  should  have  inherited,  to  their  own 
detested  land  of  Denmark,  where  Halfdane,  the  eldest 
of  the  fierce  brethren,  the  same  who  now  awes  the 
trembling  Northumbrian  Saxons  with  the  terror  of 
his  name,  this  Halfdane,  I  say,  exchanged  me  with 
his  hunting  companion,  Ricsig,  for  a  wolf-hound,  and 
Ricsig,  in  his  turn,  trucked  me  away  to  Selwood  the 
Saxon,  for  a  paltry  drinking  horn,  as  though  I  had 
been  a  thing  of  nought,  a  senseless  utensil,  or  a  beast 
of  the  field.' 

'  And  how  have  you  been  treated  in  the  household 
of  the  Saxon  franklin  V  demanded  the  stranger. 

'  With  hard  words  and  harder  blows  have  I  been 
driven  forth  to  the  performance  of  vile  offices,'  returned 
Guthred  indignantly.'  A  hewer  of  wood  and  a  draw- 
er of  water  have  I  been  to  sordid  household  queans, 
and  a  drudge  in  field  and  fold  to  the  base  churls 
who  served  my  Saxon  master,  and  with  their  injuri- 
ous usage  increased  the  bitterness  of  a  prince's  bon- 
dage. Pity  have  I  had  from  no  one  save  from  thy- 
self,' added  he,  in  a  softened  tone,  on  perceiving  the 
kindly  drops  which  the  tale  of  his  sorrows  had  drawn 
from  the  benign  eyes  of  the  stranger.  'And  who  art 
ihou  that  weepest  for  the  woes  of  an  alien  and  a  slave' 


GUTHRED.  27 

''urely  thou  belongest  not  to  the  race  of  the  ui  feeling 
Saxon,  or  the  savage  Dane  ! ' 

'  My  name  is  Eadred,'  replied  the  stranger,  '  and, 
though  of  Saxon  lineage,  I  am  not,  I  trust,  unfe'^Ung, 
but  the  servant  of  One  who  is  the  friend  of  the 
friendless ;  who  hath,  in  His  divine  wisdom,  for  some 
good  purpose,  doubtless,  brought  thee  hither,  and  hath 
sent  me  to  thee  with  tidinsfs  of  comfort.' 

In  reply  to  Guthred's  eager  inquiries,  Eadred  pro- 
ceeded to  reveal  to  him  that  God,  of  whose  name  and 
attributes  he  had  hitherto  remained  in  profound  igno- 
rance. 

Guthred  listened  patiently,  for  the  manners  of  the 
eloquent  speaker  had  that  mild  persuasive  charm 
which  appeals  resistlessly  to  every  heart.  He  listen- 
ed attentively,  for  the  subject  was  one  of  powerful  in- 
terest, conveyed  as  it  was,  in  the  impressive,  but  sub- 
lime simplicity  of  truth.  He  listened  with  delight, 
for  the  pure  doctrines  of  Christianity  were  glad  ti- 
dings to  the  desolate,  heart-broken  captive,  to  whom 
they  offered  better  hopes  of  happiness  in  a  future  state 
of  existence  than  the  savage  pleasure  of  quaffing 
mead  and  beer  from  the  skulls  of  slaughtered  foes, 
m  the  joyless  valhalla,  or  heaven,  of  Scandinavian 
mythology;  and    Gilhred,    the    lineal  descendant  ol 

the  renowned   Odin,  who  was  honored  as  one  of  the 
3 


28  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

miglitiest  of  the  northern  divinities,  became  a  conrert 
to  the  Christian  faith. 

Eadred  frequently  sought  his  young  friend  in  the 
lonely  pastures,  where  he  kept  the  franklin's  sheep, 
for  the  purpose  of  imparting  to  his  powerful  but  un- 
cultivated mind,  the  advantages  of  that  learning  which 
he  was  ably  qualified  to  communicate  ;  for  Eadred 
was  a  Saxon  monk  of  distinguished  talents  and  emi- 
nent acquirements,  who  resided  in  a  neighboring  con- 
vent, and  employed  himself  in  works  of  mercy  and 
charily,  and  experienced  a  pure  delight  in  diffusing 
the  light  of  knowledge  and  religion,  in  succoring  the 
distressed,  and  comforting  the  sorrowful.  As  his  pu- 
pil, the  hitherto  fierce  and  intractable  Guthred,  became 
mild,  reflective,  and  intelligent,  the  hours  that  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  waste  in  vain  repining,  listless  in- 
sanity, or  stormy  bursts  of  passion,  were  now  employ- 
ed in  study  or  heavenward  meditation,  which  enabled 
him  to  correct  the  defects  of  his  character,  and  to  en- 
dure with  resignation  and  fortitude  the  toil  and  per- 
secution he  occasionally  had  to  bear.  He  no  longer 
regretted  the  loss  of  power  and  dominion,  for  his 
mind  was  lo  him  a  kingdom,  and  the  intercourses  he 
enjoyed  with  the  pious  and  accomplished  Eadred,  he 
would  not  have  resigned  for  all  the  riches  the  would 
could  bestow. 

Books  were  then  rare   possessions,  confined  to  the 


GUTHRED.  29 

ibraries  of  convents,  and  but  seldom  to  be  met  wiili 
in  the  cabinets  of  monarchs,  yet  Guthred,  through  tlie 
favor  of  his  learned  friend,  was  seldom  without  a  roll 
of  illuminated  MS.  in  his  bosom,  wherewith  to  beguile 
his  solitary  hours,  and  sweeten  the  labors  of  the  day. 
Nor  were  his  studies  confined  to  book-learning  alone  ; 
he  became  an  observer  of  the  face  of  nature,  and  the 
characters  of  his  fellow  men. 

'  Knowledge  is  power,'  Lord  Bacon  in  later  times 
has  said,  and  the  enslav'ed  Guthred,  the  servant  of 
servants,  as  he,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  had  aptly 
styled  himself,  acquired  with  his  growing  wisdom 
such  influence  over  the  minds  of  those  around  him, 
that  he  became  as  it  were  the  oracle  of  the  household 
3nd  neighborhood.  His  sayings  were  quoted,  his  ad- 
vice solicited,  and  his  judgment  appealed  to,  in  all  ca- 
ses where  parties  were  at  issue  or  difficulties  occurred. 

Like  the  captive  Hebrew  in  the  house  of  the  Egyp- 
tian lord,  every  thing  appeared  to  prosper  with  him. 
The  flocks  and  herds  of  Selwood  increased,  and  his 
crops  were  more  abundant;  plenty  was  without,  and 
peace  within  the  dwelling,  where  the  master  mind  of 
the  young  slave,  as  he  approached  to  manhood,  man- 
ifested its  superiority  over  the  ignorant  serfs  and  ceorlsi 
by  the  improvements  he  suggested,  and  the  good  order 
tie  CGI  tributed  to  establish  and  man. tain.     But  'liese 


30  HISTOPaCAL  TALES. 

days  of  tranquillity  were  not  to  last.  The  gn  wmg 
wealth  of  Se-iwood  excited  the  cupidity  ol  the  Dan- 
ish hordes  in'  the  neighborhood,  who,  taking  advan- 
tage of  a  dispute  among  themseh^es,  in  which  they 
pretended  that  the  inhabitants  of  Whitinghain  had  in 
terfered,  poured  down  upon  the  devoted  Saxons,  plun- 
dered their  dwellings,  drove  away  their  flocks  and 
herds,  and  put  every  man  to  the  sword  who  dared  to 
offer  resistance  to  their  lawless  rapacity. 

When  Guthred,  who  had  been  sent  by  his  master 
on  a  message  of  trust  to  receive  a  sum  of  money 
from  the  monks  of  Rindisfairne  for  a  drove  of  fat 
bullocks,  returned  to  Whitingham,  he  found  the  home- 
stead in  ashes,  the  lands  harried,  the  flocks,  and  herds 
gone,  and  his  mistress  sitting  on  her  ruined  hearth- 
stone, weeping  over  the  mangled  corse  of  the  mur- 
dered franklin,  her  husband  ;  deserted  by  serfs  and 
thralls,  they  having  taken  advantage  of  her  calamity 
to  provide  for  their  own  interests  ;  and  even  abandon- 
ed by  her  niece  and  sole  relative,  Swindreda,  that 
damsel  having  taken  a  fancy  to  one  of  the  Danish 
plunderers,  with  whom  she  departed  to  the  Danelagh. 

It  was  then  that  Guthred  found  occasion  for  ihe 
exercise  of  those  principles  of  Christian  benevolence, 
which  had  been  inculcated  by  the  pious  Eadi-  J. 
That  beloved  friend  was  indeed  lost  to  him,  for  the 
(^onvent  had  been  plundered  and  burned  by   the    fero- 


GUTHRED.  S 

S:'Ais  Danes,  and  no  trace  of  the  mon.cs  or  heir  peace- 
ful and  useful  occupations  remamed  ;  but  ;he  precepts 
of  Eadred  remained  indelibly  impressed  on  the  tablets 
of  Guihred's  heart,  whose  first  impulse  was  to  bestow 
such  consolation  and  assistance  as  it  was  i"n  his  power 
to  ofTer  to  the  broken-hearted  widow. 

Poor  Winifred,  who  had  not  expected  to  receive 
that  sympathy  and  succour  from  the  foreign  thrall 
which  had  been  denied  by  those  from  whom  she  had 
most  reason  to  expect  it,  lifted  up  her  voice,  and  bles- 
sed him  with  the  blessing  of  the  widow  and  the  des- 
titute. 

When  Guthred  had  consigned  the  bleeding  remains 
of  his  murdered  master  to  a  grave,  which  he  dug  for 
him  beneath  the  umbrage  of  one  of  the  noble  elms 
that  had  formerly  overshadowed  the  low-roofed  but 
pleasant  dwelling,  he  conducted  his  sorrowing  mis- 
tress to  a  miserable  shieling,  or  cottage,  that  had  es- 
caped the  general  conflagration  which  had  consumed 
house,  barns,  and  cattle  sheds  ;  but,  notwithstanding 
all  his  care  and  consideration,  Winifred  must  have 
perished  of  want,  had  it  not  been  for  the  sum  which 
Guthred  had  received  from  the  monks  of  Lindisfairne 
for  his  deceased  master,  and  which  he  now,  with  scru- 
pulous fidelity,  delivered  to  the  astonished  widow. 

'  Keep  it,  my  son,'  said  she,  '  and  us(!  it  for  our 
mutual  benefit  ;    surely  it  will  be  safer  in  thy  hands 


i2 


HISTORICAL    TALES. 


than  in  niine,  and   will  prosper   under   thy    manage 
ment.' 

Guthred  applied  this  little  store  with  such  prudence 
and  success,  and  used  such  unremitting  personal  ex- 
ertions, in  improving  the  widow's  mite,  that,  by  de- 
grees, her  desolate  dwelling  began  to  wear  an  air  of 
comfort,  and  at  length  she  found  herself  the  mistress 
of  a  productive  little  farm,  with  kine,  sheep,  swine, 
and  poultry,  sufficient  for  her  use. 

Guthred,  who  found  a  sweet  satisfaction  in  admin- 
istering to  her  comforts,  was  repaid  a  thousand  fold 
by  the  lender  affection  with  which  he  was  regarded 
by  the  grateful  widow,  who  was  to  him  as  a  mother. 

Northumbria  continued  the  theatre  of  petty  intes- 
une  wars,  not  only  between  its  rival  population  of 
Saxons  and  Danes,  but  of  fierce  dissensions  among 
the  Danes  themselves,  who,  since  the  death  of  Half- 
dane,  their  leader,  and  the  overthrow  and  slaughter  of 
his  brother  Hubba  (the  sons  of  Regner  Lodbrok,  and 
chief  governors  of  the  Danelagh ■>,  had  not  been  able 
to  agree  among  themselves  respecting  the  choice  of  a 
successor  to  the  sovereign  authority,  not  one  of  the 
royal  line  of  Odin  remaining  among  their  hordes. 

But  the  wars  au'*  i-umors  of  wars,  which  spread 
desolation,  bloodshed,  and  terror,  through  country  and 
•own  of  this  unfortunate  district,  disquieted  not  the 
humble  cottage  where  the  widowed  Winifred  and  her 


GUTHRED.  33 

llira  11,  Guthred,  found  shelter  and  contentment.  There 
were  moments,  perhaps,  when  Guthred  felt  disposed 
to  regret  that  his  talents  and  acquirements  had  no  no- 
bler sphere  for  their  exercise  than  the  occupations  of 
a  shepherd  or  husbandman  ;  but  then  the  reflection 
that  he  was  engaged  in  the  virtuous  performance  of 
the  duties  of  that  state  to  which  it  had  pleased  his 
heavenly  Father  to  call  him,  checked  the  rebellious 
susfffestions  of  ambition  and  discontent,  and  he  re- 
turned  to  his  toils  with  the  pious  conviction,  that,  if  it 
were  the  will  of  God  that  the  hand  that  ought  to  have 
wielded  a  sceptre  should  be  doomed  to  guide  a  plough 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  a  foreign  land,  it  was  righ* 
that  it  should  be  so.  But  other  things  were  in  store 
for  the  royal  orphan,  who  had  been  prepared  in  the 
school  of  adversity  for  a  better  inheritance  than  that 
which  was  his  birthright. 

One  morning,  on  returning  from  the  field  to  break 
fast,  he  found  Winifred  attired  in  her  best  black  kir- 
tle,  surcoat,  and  hood,  and  busily  engaged  in  smooth- 
ing, with  an  iron,  the  plaits  and  coarse  embroidery  on 
the  back  and  shoulders  of  his  sabbath  super-tunic, 
which  garment  was  made  of  coarse  home-spun  white 
linen,  precisely  similar  in  all  respects  to  the  long  open 
frocks  worn  in  the  present  day  by  wagoners.  '  How 
now,  my  good  mother,'  said  Guthred  with  a  smile,  for  by 
that  endearing  nan.e  he  had  long  been  accustomed  to 


34  HISTORICAL  TALES, 

BCidress  her, '  what  makes  you  so  full  of  business  with 
my  best  'parelling  to-day  ?  To-mojTow  is  neither 
Sunday  nor  a  saint's  day,  you  know.' 

'  No  matter,  my  son,'  replied  Winifred,  '  there  is  to 
be  a  goodly  show  and  a  great  festival  at  Oswindune, 
for  the  Danes  and  Saxons  are  tired  of  their  quarrels 
and  evil  doings,  and  have  resolved  to  choose  a  king  ol 
Northumberland  by  mutual  agreement,  this  blessed 
day,  to  put  an  end  to  bloodshed  and  deadly  debate  ; 
and  Ulph,  the  miller,  of  Whitingham,  who  hath  just 
told  me  the  glad  tidings,  hath  promised  to  lend  us  one 
of  his  grist  carts  and  the  old  pied  mare,  that  we  may 
go  thither  like  our  neighbors  to  view  the  joyful  sight.' 

'  My  dear  mother,'  said  Guthred,  '  those  will  be 
Tisest  who  keep  at  home  on  such  a  day,  especially 
•Tomen  folk  and  Saxons,  believe  me  ;  for  such  a 
Jieeting  is  far  more  likely  to  create  deadly  debates 
than  to  end  them  ;  and  then  the  sword  and  the  battle- 
axe  will  be  the  umpires  that  will  decide  any  quarrel 
that  may  arise  :  for  as  to  the  Danes  and  Saxons 
agreeing  in  any  thing,  much  less  on  a  matter  of  such 
importance  as  the  choice  of  a  king,  it  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected ;  therefore,  their  assembly  will  only  be  the 
cause  of  bloodshed,  so,  dear  mother,  be  persuaded  by 
me,  and  go  not  thither  to-day.' 

'  Nay  !  nay  1  my  son,  thou  art,  for  once,  mistaken 
tn  thy  judgment,'  said  Winifred,  '  for  our   peof/ie  anJ 


GUTHRED.  35 

iie  Danes  have  already  in  the  wise  determination  ol 
leaving  the  nomination  of  their  mutual  governor  to 
our  good  king  Alfred  and  the  pious  bishop  of  Lindis- 
fairne,  who  will  both  be  present,  they  say  ;  and  if  we 
go  not  to  Oswindune  to-day,  we  may  never  again  en- 
joy the  felicity  of  looking  upon  such  a  king  and  such 
a  prelate.  Besides,'  added  she,  on  observing  that 
Guihred  was  about  to  offer  some  fresh  objection,  '  I 
am  resolved  on  going,  whether  you  approve  of  it  or 
not  ;  for  I  have  lived  under  the  shadow  of  this  poor 
shieling  in  the  depth  of  a  wood,  lo  !  this  seven  years, 
and  seen  neither  feast  nor  festival  since  the  day  of  my 
sad  widowhood,  and  'tis  time  now,  I  wot,  that  I  should 
enjoy  some  pastime  ;  so,  if  thou  likest  not  to  drive 
the  pied  mare,  I  will  e'en  ask  Ulph  the  miller  to  give 
me  a  seat  in  his  great  meal  wagon,  with  the  rest  ot 
the  gossips  and  neighbors,  who  are  going  to  see  this 
blessed  sight.' 

'  Well,  mother,'  replied  Guthred,  '  if  you  are  thus 
Dent  on  going,  I  am  your  thrall,  you  know,  and  bound 
to  do  your  bidding  ;  and  even  were  that  not  the  case, 
I  would  attend  you  for  love's  sake,  especially  as  there 
rnav  be  danger.' 

Winifred,  in  high  good  humor  at  having  carried 
her  point,  packed  up  a  store  of  oaten  cakes,  cheese, 
md  diied  mutton,  to  which  she  added  a  bottle  of  her 
Dcst   metheglin,  as   a   stcre   for   the  joum-ey,   while 


.*6  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Gutnred  combed  his  long  dark  ringlets^  washed  his 
face  and  hands,  and  donned  his  snowy  super-tunic 
and  fox-fur  cap,  in  readiness  to  attend  his  mistress. 

The  roads  were  like  all  roads  in  those  days,  of  a 
very  rough  description,  full  of  deep  ruts  and  holes 
here  and  there  mended  with  rough  blocks  of  stone,  or 
the  trunks  of  trees  laid  side  by  side.  The  grist  cart 
was  an  uncouth,  and,  what  was  worse,  a  jolting  con 
veyance,  and  the  miller's  old  pied  mare  a  sorry  jade  ; 
nevertheless,  the  day  was  so  fine,  and  they  met  with 
such  abundance  of  good  company  on  the  road,  that 
both  mistress  and  slave  were  in  the  best  possible  spi- 
rits, and  were  willing  to  overlook  all  inconveniences, 
and  only  to  dwell  on  the  agreeable  part  of  the  journey. 

When  they  drew  near  the  scene  of  action,  Winifred 
was  greatly  amused  by  examining  the  various  caval 
cades  of  Danish  holdas  in  their  burnished  armor,  over 
which  flowed  silken  mantles,  and  their  long  red  tresses 
braided  with  gems  and  threads  of  gold, — for  the 
Danes,  notwithstanding  their  ferocious  and  barbarous 
manners,  affected  great  nicety  in  dress,  and  were  the 
fops  of  the  ninth  century  ;  the  gallantly  armed  and 
mounted  Saxon  thanes,  with  their  courtly  yet  warlike 
t)earing,  and  festal  array,  each  attended  by  a  train  of 
martial  followers  ;  the  bands  of  wealthy  franklins,  and 
sturdy  ceorls,  with  their  wives  and  families  ;  even 
the  poor  snrfs  and  craftsmen  of  low  degree  were  flock« 


GUTHRED.  37 

tng  from  all  directions   to    the    spot.      Besides   these 
were  gleemeu    with  harps  ;    travelling  jugglers   with 
apes  and  bears  ;    morrice  dancers  ;    and  itinerants  ol 
various  descriptions,  with  their  tempting  wares,  min 
gling  in  the  motley  groups. 

The  simple  Winifred,  who  had  never  seen  half  so 
many  grand  people  in  the  whole  course  of  her  life, 
was,  in  her  ecstasies,  ready  to  leap  out  of  the  grist 
cart  with  delight  one  moment,  and  the  next  inclined 
to  rate  the  prudent  Guthred  soundly,  for  having  en- 
deavored to  prevent  her  from  enjoying  the  pleasure  of 
so  brave  a  spectacle. 

•  All  is  well  that  ends  well,'  was  his  only  reply  to 
her  reproaches. 

'  All  must  end  well  that  hath  so  joyous  a  begin- 
ning,' cried  Winifred,  '  for  lo  !  how  lovingly  are  the 
Danish  holdas  riding  with  our  noble  thanes,  and  their 
grim  spearsmen  behave  like  brethren  to  the  ceorls  and 
milk  maidens.  0,  it  was  never  so  seen  in  my  time  ! 
or  my  poor  dear  Sehvood  had  not  been  barbarously 
slain,  only  for  withstanding  the  foul  robbers  from 
plundering  his  homestead  !  but  the  Lord  hath  turned 
their  wolfish  hearts  since  then,  I  trow  !' 

'  Or  rather,  the  victorious  arm  of  our  noble  Alfred 
haih  taught  them  the  necessity  of  adopting  betrer 
manners,'  reji lined   Guthred  smiling.      '  The   Saxon 


38  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

hath  the  best  of  it  now,  good  mother,  or  the  Danes 
had  never  consented  to  adopt  a  king  of  his  choosing 
but  the  truth  of  it  is,  Alfred's  valor  and  Alfred's  wis- 
dom have  so  completely  broken  the  power  of  the 
Danelagh,  that  their  leaders  are  happy  to  accede  to 
any  terms  he  may  choose  to  impose,  as  a  condition  of 
being  allowed  to  remain  in  possession  of  the  lands 
they  have  acquired  in  Northumbria.' 

When  they  arrived  at  Oswindune,  Winifred  ex- 
presed  an  earnest  desire  to  obtain  a  sight  of  the  holy 
bishop  of  Lindisfairne  ;  but,  as  he  was  surrounded  by 
Saxon  thanes  and  Danish  chiefs,  with  whom  he  was 
discussing  the  important  business  on  which  this  as- 
sembly had  been  convened,  there  would  have  been 
little  chance  of  her  wish  being  gratified,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  impertinence  of  the  jester  of  a  Danish 
holda,  who,  perceiving  that  his  master  was  exceeding- 
ly amused  at  poor  Winifred's  equipage,  maliciously 
rattled  his  bauble  about  the  ears  of  the  pied  mare, 
which  so  terrified  the  animal,  that,  becoming  perfectly 
unmanageable,  she  started  oflTat  headlong  speed,  and, 
in  spite  of  all  Guthred's  efforts  to  restrain  her,  carried 
the  grist  cart,  with  himself  and  Winifred,  into  the 
very  centre  of  the  privileged  circle  that  surrounded 
the  bishop  of  Lindisfairne. 

The  arrival  of  this  unexpected  addition  to  the  na- 
tional council  appeared  so   thoroughly    ridiculous    to 


GUTHRKD.  39 

ftll  parties,  that  Saxons  and  Danes  alike  indulged  in 
the  most  immoderate  bursts  of  laughter,  while  some 
of  the  younger  of  both  nations  were  found  sufficiently 
ill-mannered  and  undignified  as  to  make  sport  for 
their  companions,  by  scornfully  calling  their  attention 
to  the  long  tresses,  indicative  of  high  rank,  which 
Guthred  wore  flowing  over  the  coarse  array  of  a 
peasant,  and  which  ill  assorted  with  the  badge  of 
thraldom  on  his  neck.  Others,  still  more  annoying, 
drew  near,  and  goaded  the  startled  mare  on  every 
side.  Guthred  on  this,  perceiving  that  his  mistress's 
personal  safety  was  greatly  imperilled  by  the  kicking 
and  plunging  of  the  enraged  animal,  sprang  from  the 
cart,  and  seizing  the  head  rein,  attempted  to  lead  the 
mare  out  of  the  press.  The  rude  chiefs  closed  around 
the  cart,  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  objects  of  their 
amusement. 

Guthred  on  this,  mildly  but  boldly  addressed  him- 
self to  both  Saxons  and  Danes,  requesting  them  to 
desist  from  tormenting  the  mare  ;  '  for,'  said  he,  '  the 
poor  animal  will  receive  some  injury  ;  and  although 
she  be  but  a  sorry  beast,  it  behoves  us  to  be  careful  of 
her,  for,  my  masters,  she  is  a  borrowed  one.' 

This  explanation  was  received  with  noisy  shouts  of 
mirth,  the  annoyances  were  redoubled  on  every  side 
while  both  Saxons  and  Danes  bade  Guthred  stand 
back,  and  not  piesume  to  interrupt  their  pastime. 


40  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

Guthred  boldly  maintained   his  ground,  and,  bram 
dishing  his  oaken  quarter-staff,  avowed    his   intentioi 
of  defending  his  mistress  and  the  miller's  mare   frora 
all  aggressions. 

The  imperious  nobles  of  both  nations  were  aston- 
ished and  enraged  at  the  hardihood  displayed  by  a 
peasant's  thrall,  in  daring  singly  to  resist  the  will  of 
powerful  chiefs  and  magnates  ;  and  a  gigantic  holda, 
whose  mature  years  and  high  rank  ought  to  have  re- 
strained him  from  engaging  in  such  proceedings,  was 
preparing  to  deal  the  dauntless  Guthred  a  blow  with 
the  heavy  handle  of  his  battle-axe,  which  must  have 
prostrated  him,  had  not  Winifred,  who  perceived  his 
intention,  and  recognised  his  person  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, called  out,  '  It  doth  ill  become  thee  to  pay  in 
such  base  coin,  methinks,  for  the  plum  porridge  and 
metheglin  with  which  thou  wert  feasted  at  the  board 
of  my  husband,  Selwood.' 

•  Just  ten  years  agone,  good  wife,  I  think,'  returned 
Ricsig  (for  it  was  no  other).  '  I  remember  thee  now 
by  the  token  of  that  shrill  voice  of  thine  ;  and,  for  the 
sake  of  the  excellent  plum  porridge  and  metheglin 
whereof  thou  speakest,  the  like  of  which  I  have  not 
tasted  since,  I  will  now  stand  thy  fiienc  and  help 
thee  and  thy  son  to  a  place  whence  thou  mayest  see 
the  bishop   and  hear  him  speak  ' 


GUTHRED,  41 

Winifred  was  profuse  in  her  acknowledgemenls  to 
the  holda  ;  but,  with  the  pride  Jiat  formed  a  promi- 
nent part  of  her  character,  sh«  thought  proper  to  in- 
form him  that  the  young  man  itVA;>  not  her  son,  but 
her  thrall.  '  The  very  lad,'  putsu^d  she,  '  whom 
you  gave  to  my  poor  dear  husbaa^.  S^lwood,  for  hi3 
carved  ivory  drinking  horn.' 

Notwithstanding  all  Guthred's  ittg.mnimity  and 
acquired  philosophy,  he  felt  mortified  at  the  feeling  of 
littleness  in  his  mistress,  which  prompted  hor  to  make 
this  communication  to  the  holda  ;  and  he  thought 
from  the  eager  manner  in  which  his  former  master 
turned  about  and  scrutinized  him  from  hetd  to  foot, 
that  it  was  more  than  probable  he  might  think  proper 
to  reclaim  him.  But  Ricsig,  clapping  his  hnnds  to- 
gether, shouted  in  a  loud  voice, '  He  is  found.  Bishop ! 
the  lost  son  of  Hardacanute,  the  last  of  the  godUks 
race  of  Odin,  the  king  whom  you  have  named  anJ 
we  have  chosen,  is  here  I  Behold,  ye  valiant  Danes, 
the  dark  eyes  and  raven  hair  of  the  royal  line  of  thjj 
'  kinsr  of  men,'  whose  descendants  alone  are  meet  ta 
sway  a  Danish  sceptre.  Lo  !  Ricsig,  the  son  <*^"i 
Kingvar,  is  the  first  to  bow  the  knee  before  him  i 
homage.' 

The  bishop  of  Lindisfairne,  at  these  words,  descei 
ded  from  the  rude  episcopal  throne,   which  had  bee 


42  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

raised  for  him  on  the  green  turf,  and,  revealing  to  the 
astonit^hed  eyes  of  Guthred  the  dearly  loved  and  un- 
forgotten  features  of  his  friend  and  instructor,  Eadred, 
folded  him  to  his  bosom  for  a  moment  ;  then,  amidst 
the  mingling  acclamations  of  Saxons  and  Danes,  con- 
ducted him  to  the  summit  of  the  hill  of  Oswindune, 
where  the  royal  inaugurations  of  the  Northumbrian 
monarchs  always  took  place,  and,  pouring  the  conse- 
crated oil  on  his  head,  exchanged  the  iron  badge  of 
thraldom  for  the  golden  bracelets  and  circlet  of  royalty, 
and  presented  him  to  the  mixed  multitude  of  Nor- 
thumbrian Danes  and  Saxons  as  their  king. 

To  the  enfranchised  slave,  so  lately  the  sport  of 
adverse  fortune,  this  sudden  elevation  appeared  like  a 
strange  dream  ;  but,  when  he  was  admitted  into  the 
presence  of  the  royal  Alfred,  to  swear  the  oath  of 
fealty  to  him  as  his  liege  lord,  he  learned  from  his 
lips  that  he  had  been  long  marked  by  him  to  fill  the 
vassal  throne  of  Northumbria  on  the  recommendation 
of  his  friend  and  counsellor,  the  bishop  of  Lindis- 
fairne,  who  had  educated  and  (unknown  to  himself) 
fitted  him  for  the  discharge  of  royal  duties,  while  he 
wore  the  iron  badge  of  servitude.  Nor  did  Guthred 
when  intrusted  with  the  awful  responsibility  of  des- 
potic power,  prove  unworthy  of  the  confidence  reposed 
in  him.  The  illustrious  Alfred  found  in  him  a 
faithful  friend,  and  an  able  coadjutor    in    establishino 


GUTHRET.  43 

equitable  laws,  reforming  abuses,  and  difTusing  the 
pure  light  of  Christianity  through  a  semi-barbarous 
)and,  and  introducing  the  refinements  and  virtues  of 
civilisation  among  the  rugged  race  over  which  he 
reigned,  in  peace  and  prosperity,  during  many  years. 
Guthred's  first  exercise  of  regal  authority  was  to 
raise  his  friend  and  instructor,  Eadred,  to  the  bishop- 
ric of  Durham,  which  he  richly  endowed  ;  nor  was 
he  forgetful  of  his  old  mistress,  Winifred,  whom  he 
cherished  with  the  greatest  tenderness,  and  watched 
over  her  declining  years  with  the  dutiful  afTection  of 
•  son. 


fire  Soiral  grothrs. 


A    STORY    OF    THE    TIMES    OF    RICHARD    THE    THIRD, 


The  fitful  sunbeams  of  an  April  day  of  smiles  arij 
showers  streamed  brightly  through  the  richly-stained 
glass  of  the  high  arched  windows  of  a  stalely  apart- 
ment in  Ludlow  Castle,  and  cast  a  sort  of  changeful 
glory  on  the  mild  and  thoughtful  features  of  a  youth 
apparently  about  twelve  years  old,  who  was  seated  in 
a  crimson  canopied  chair  fringed  with  gold,  before  a 
carved  ebony  reading  table  covered  with  books  and  il- 
luminated writings,  and  was  deeply  engaged  in  the 
perusal  of  a  folio,  printed  on  vellum,  and  bound  in 
rose-coloured  velvet,  clasped  and  studded  with  gold, 
and  emblazoned  on  either  side  with  the  royal  arms  of 
England. 

The  youthful  student  was  of  a  sweet  and  serious 
aspect,  the  singular  beauty  of  his  person  being  less 
wor\hy  of  observation  than   the  noble  and  ingenuous 


46  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

expression  of  his  countenance,  which  indicated  hab- 
its of  reflection  and  intellectual  graces  beyond  his  age 

He  was  attired  in  a  style  of  regal  magnificence^ 
wearing  a  robs  of  purple  velvet  lined  with  ermine,  a 
cap  of  the  same  material  turned  up  with  a  similar  fur, 
and  adorned  with  the  white  rose  badge  of  York.  His 
doublet  and  long  hose  were  of  white  damask,  em- 
broidered with  gold  and  fastened  with  jewelled  studs. 
He  wore,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, boots  of  black  velvet,  with  long  pointed  toes  pro- 
jecting several  inches  beyond  the  feet  and  turned 
upwards. 

The  jewelled  collar  and  glittering  insignia  of  the 
garter  on  the  neck  of  one  so  young,  no  less  than  his 
princely  air  and  bearing,  bespoke  him  a  child  of  no 
ordinary  lineage — he  v/as,  in  fact,  the  heir  of  Eng- 
land, Edward  Prince  of  Wales,  eldest  son  of  King 
Edward  the  Fourth. 

He  had  been  sent  by  his  royal  father,  under  the 
care  of  his  maternal  uncle  the  accomplished  Earl  of 
Rivers,  and  other  distinguished  personages,  on  a  pro- 
gress through  Wales,  under  the  idea  that  his  appear- 
ance among  then  would  have  some  influence  in  ap- 
peasing the  discontents  of  the  disaffected  inhabitants 
of  that  portion  of  his  dominions,  who  had  always 
been  the  firmest  adherents  of  the  rival  house  o/ 
Lancaster. 


ROYAL    BROT.HERS.  47 

The  Earl  of  Rivers,  having  succeeded  in  some  de« 
gree  in  comj)osing  the  disorderly  and  turbulent  slate 
of  the  country,  had  retired  with  his  royal  charge  to 
Ludlow  Castle  in  Shropshire,  the  ancient  stronghold 
of  the  Prince's  ancestors,  the  Earls  of  March,  where 
those  powerful  border  lords  had  been  accustomed, 
from  the  early  times  of  the  Plantagenet  dynasty,  to 
reign  in  a  sort  of  feudal  territory  of  their  own,  pay 
ing  a  doubtful  homage  to  the  King  of  England,  and 
carrying  terror  and  desolation  into  the  dominions  of 
the  Welsh  princes,  with  whom  they  were  almost  al- 
ways engaged  in  a  predatory  warfare. 

In  this  fortress  it  was  King  Edward's  intention  tha 
his  son  should  keep  court  during  the  spring  and  sum 
mer  months,  under  the  tutelage  of  his  uncle  Rivers ; 
and  the  Prince,  far  from  regretting  an  arrangement 
which  deprived  him  of  the  gay  companionships  of 
his  age  and  the  splendor  of  his  father's  court,  (then 
the  most  magnificent  in  Europe),  was  rejoiced  to  avail 
himself  of  the  opportunity  which  the  almost  unbro- 
ken quiet  and  solitude  of  Ludlow  Castle  afforded  for 
the  pursuit  of  his  studies.  This  unwearied  applica- 
tion to  the  improvement  of  his  mind,  to  which  h(!  had 
been  trained,  assisted,  and  encouraged,  by  the  instruc- 
tion and  example  of  his  learned  uncle  the  Earl  of  Ri- 
vers, was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  the  uneducated  no- 
bles and  gentlemen  of  his  train.who  had  been  appoin 


48  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

ted  for  the  most  part  by  King  Edward  to  accompany 
the  prince  on  this  expedition,  on  account  of  their  war- 
like reputation  and  their  known  attachment  to  his 
House,  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  insurgent  Welsh 
chieftains  in  awe,  and  were  not  very  likly  to  appre- 
ciate the  charms  of  learning,  or  to  consider  the  culti- 
vation of  the  mind  as  a  matter  of  much  importance. 

'  I  begin  to  be  heartily  weary  of  our  dull  sojourn 
in  this  gloomy  stronghold  of  the  fierce  Mortimers, 
your  ancestors.  Prince  Edward,  do  not  you  ?  '  said  a 
handsome  gaily  dressed  young  man,  who  had  stood 
for  some  minutes  at  the  elbow  of  the  Prince,  endeav- 
oring, but  in  vain,  to  attract  his  attention  from  his 
books  by  whistling  and  talking  to  a  falcon  that  was 
perched  on  his  wrist. 

'  If  I  could  find  no  better  pastime  than  feeding  my 
falcon,  playing  with  my  dogs,  and  occasionally  visit- 
ing my  steed  in  his  stall,  or  riding  him  forth  in  com- 
pany with  other  youths  whose  best  employment  is 
idlesse,  perhaps  I  might  be,  Richard  Grey,'  replied 
the  prince,  smiling  archly  upon  the  querist,  who  wa3 
his  half-brother,  the  youngest  son  of  the  queen  by 
her  first  husband.  Sir  John  Grey  of  Groby. 

'  Well,  but  Edward,  my  royal  brother,'  pursued  he, 
'  your  health  is  very  precious,  and  the  king  your  fath- 
er, when  he  did  me  the  honour  of  investing  me  with 
the  office  of  your  chamberlain,  charged  me  o  have 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  49 

{•articular  care  that  you  injured  it  not  by  excessive 
study,  or  any  other  intemperance,  and  therefore  it  is 
my  bounden  duty  to  warn  you  against  such.' 

'  Seasonable  occupation  of  the  mind  is  good  for  the 
body  wiiich  is  never  healthy  in  a  state  of  sinful  indo- 
lence,' replied  the  prince. 

'  I  had  as  lief  be  in  a  monastery  or  in  a  prison  a 
once,  as  to  pass  my  days  in  the  dull  confinement  o/ 
ponng  over  old  chronicles  and  codes  of  laws  in  a  si- 
lent chamber,  as  you  do,  my  fair  brother,'  said  the 
Lord  Grey. 

'  It  is  my  duty  so  to  prepare  my  mind,  by  storing 
It  with  useful  information  against  the  time  when  I 
may  be  too  much  occupied  with  the  busy  cares  of  a 
public  life  to  enjoy  the  leisure,  that  I  am  willing  to 
employ  as  you  see,'  replied  the  prince. 

'  A  game  of  tennis  in  the  court  below  would  be  a 
much  pleasanter  way  of  employing  both  mind  and 
body,  my  dear  lord,'  rejoined  the  other ;  '  or  what 
say  you  of  going  forth  with  the  hawks  to-day?' 

'  And  so  to  disturb  the  pretty  birds  in  their  happy 
season  of  love,  and  belike  to  deprive  the  helpless 
nestlings  of  the  cherishing  care  of  some  of  their  pa- 
rents for  our  cruel  sport :  call  you  that  pleasure,  Rich- 
ard Grey?  Alack,  good  Richard,   I  trow   you  never 

knew  the  true  meaning  of  the  word,'  said  the  prince. 
5 


50  ROYAL    BROTHERS. 

At  tliat  moment  the  shrill  notes  of  a  .rumpet  were 
heard  at  a  distance,  from  the  London  road. 

*  An  express !  a  royal  express  !'  cried  Lord  Grey 
clapping  his  hands;  '  now  I  trow  we  shall  have  some* 
thing  to  think  of,  and  something  to  do,  better  than 
leading  the  lives  of  unfrocked  monks  in  this  gloomy 
abode.' 

'  Ah !  Richard  !  Richard  ! ' — began  the  prince — 
•  My  dear  lord,'  interrupted  the  volatile  youth,  '  you 
must  forgive  me  for  leaving  you  in  the  very  beginning 
of  your  sermon ;  but  I  must  indeed  go  find  our  uncle 
Rivers,  that  there  may  be  no  needless  delay  in  open- 
ing the  mail.' 

•  Why  so  impatient  ?  '  said  the  prince  ;  *  the  cou 
rier  is  almost  a  mile  distant,  I  can  tell  by  the  faint- 
ness  of  the  blast ;'  but  his  companion  was  already 
gone.  Prince  Edward's  eye  reverted  to  the  page  of 
the  chronicle  of  Sir  John  Froissart,  which  he  was  pe- 
rusing previous  to  the  interruption  he  had  received 
from  his  thoughtless  relative,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
few  moments  he  was  sn  deeply  engrossed  in  the  live- 
ly and  chivalric  details  of  the  splendid  reign  of  :he 
third  Edward,  as  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  ar- 
rival of  the  courier,  whose  approach  indeed  he  had 
wholly  forgotten,  till  a  tumultuous  sound  of  thronging 
footsteps,  and  a  general  buzz  of  eager  voices  in  the 
gallery  leading   to    the    apartment,    announcing    ihai 


ROYAL     BROTHERS.  51 

some  extraordinary  intelligence  had  been  rjceived,  re- 
called it  to  his  remembrance. 

'May  I  be  permitted  to  be  the  first  to  offer  the 
homage  of  the  most  loving  of  your  lieges  to  your  roy- 
al Grace,'  said  the  Earl  of  Rivers,  who  now  entered 
with  Lord  Grey,  and  bending  his  knee  to  his  youth- 
ful nephew,  saluted  him  by  the  title  of  '  Edward  the 
Fifth,  King  of  England.' 

'  Your  salutation,  my  sweet  uncle,  implieth  heavy 
tidings,'  said  the  young  king,  bursting  into  tears ; 
*  and  if  you  knew  how  sadly  it  soundeth  in  mine  ears, 
you  would  not  smile  upon  me  thus.' 

'My  royal  nephew  is  to  blame  in  taking  the  will 
of  God  which  calls  him  to  a  throne  as  a  grievous  dis- 
pensation,' observed  the  Earl  of  Rivers  to  the  Lord 
Richard  Grey,  the  king's  half-brother,  who  stood  anx- 
iously regarding  the  sorrowful  countenance  of  the 
new  monarch,  and  endeavoring  by  many  caresses  to 
soothe  his  passionate  grief. 

•  Marry,  my  lord,  I  think  so,'  replied  the  youthful 
noble.  '  The  death  of  our  late  lord.  King  Edward 
of  glorious  memory,  albeit  it  was  somewhat  before 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  was  after  a  peaceful 
fashion,  and  not  cut  short  by  treason,  or  accident,  or 
•iny  violent  means,  which  can  be  said  of  few  princes 
in  these  bloody  and  troublous  times ;  and  we  under- 
stand, moreover,  from  the  letters  of  the  queen,  my 


5'2  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

royal  mother,  that  he  died  in  an  odour  of  sanctify 
deeply  repenting  him  of  the  blood  he  had  shed  in  the 
course  of  the  long  and  perilous  struggle  he  maintain- 
ed before  he  could  wrest  his  rightful  inheritance  from 
the  usurping  house  of  Lancaster ;  and,  therefore,  we 
doubt  not  that  he  now  sleepeth  in  the  sure  hope  of  a 
blessed  resurrection,  in  which  it  behoveth  all  his  true 
friends  and  loving  children  to  rejoice  rather  than  to 
weep.' 

'  Ah,  Richard  V  said  the  king  sorrowfully,  '  it  is 
lot  so  easy  to  reconcile  an  afTectionate  child  to  the 
less  of  a  parent  and  protector.  Tell  me,  fair  brother, 
did  you,  and  your  brother  Dorset,  take  the  death  of 
vour  valiant  father.  Sir  John  Grey,  so  lightly  ? ' 

*  Marry,  my  liege,  no ;  but  our  case  was  widely 
different,  for  he  was  slain  in  the  bloody  field  of  Bar- 
net,  fighting  against  his  rightful  sovereign  our  late 
lord  King  Edward,  of  glorious  memory;  and  his 
death  and  the  ruin  of  his  cause  involved  the  forfeit- 
ure of  lands  and  heritage,  leaving  our  mother  and 
ourselves  in  a  state  of  destitution  ;  while  you,  my 
royal  lord,  are  called  by  the  removal  of  the  king,  your 
father,  to  the  enjoyment  of  regal  dignity,  and  the  ful- 
filment, as  I  trust,  of  a  glorious  and  happy  destmy 
What  say  ye,  my  masters  ? '  continued  he,  turning 
to  some  of  the  knights  and  ncbles,  who  now  e'ltered 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  53 

kO  pay  their  court  to  their  sovereign,  '  is  it  not,  think 
ye,  a  brave  thing  to  be  a  king  ? ' 

The  courtiers  were  voluble  in  their  assurances  tha\ 
it  must  be  a  most  enviable  lot. 

'  Did  Edward  the  Second,  Kichard  the  Second,  and 
Henry  the  Sixth,  find  it  so?'  demanded  the  young 
monarch  with  a  sigh. 

'  My  dear  lord,  why  name  those  unhappy  men  ? ' 
said  the  Earl  of  Rivers.  '  The  misfortunes  of  the 
two  first  were  the  natural  results  of  their  follies  and 
vices,  and  the  last  was  a  usurper,   you  know.' 

'  Did  your  brave  grandfather,  Sir  Anthony  Wood- 
ville,  consider  him  in  that  light  when  he  lost  his  life 
in  the  battle  of  St.  Albans,  fighting  in  his  cause  ^ 
£aid  the  king,  '  or  did  you,  fair  uncle,  who  have  so 
often  worn  the  red  rose  of  Lancaster  in  bloody  fields, 
so  regard  the  sovereign  in  whose  quarrel  you  fought?' 

'  Fie  !  fie  !  my  liege,  you  are  too  sharp  in  your  re- 
torts,' whispered  the  Earl  in  some  confusion,  on  ob- 
serving a  half  suppressed  sigh  from  those  around. 
•  See  you  not,'  continued  he,  '  the  looks  which  those, 
who  grudge  at  the  advancement  of  your  mother's 
kindred,  exchange  with  each  other,  on  hearing  such 
ill-judged  allusions  to   our  former  politics  ?  ' 

'  Well,  well,  good  uncle,  I  meant  not  to  offend  you 
by  my  jila'nness  of  speech,  and  I  :rave  your  pardon, 


54 


HISTORICAL  Tales. 


returned  the  king ;  thtn  rising  from  his  seat  and  bow- 
ing graciously  to  his  uncle  and  his  little  court,  he 
said,  '  I  pray  your  indulgence,  my  loving  lieges,  and 
trust  you  will  hold  me  excused  for  receiving  in  a  sor- 
rowful guise,  the  homage,  which,  however  prized  by 
me,  having  been  dearly  purchased  by  a  father's  death, 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  painful  in  the  first  moments 
of  affliction,  on  account  of  that  most  sorrowful  be- 
reavement.' He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  as 
he  concluded,  and   withdrew  to  an  inner  apartment. 

The  royal  retinue  left  Ludlow  Castle  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  the  queen-mother  having  directed  her 
brother,  the  Earl  of  Rivers,  to  bring  the  young  king, 
his  nephew,  to  London  with  all  convenient  speed,  at- 
tended by  a  trusty  body  of  troops,  which  she  begged 
him  to  raise  forthwith,  to  protect  the  youthful  mon- 
arch from  the  evil  designs  of  Richard  duke  of  Glouce- 
ster, the  late  king's  brother,  who  had  long  been  at 
enmity  with  all  her  family,  and  was  by  them  suspec- 
ted of  aiming  at  the  crown. 

Meantime,  that  subtle  politician,  whose  crooked 
policy  rendered  him  extremely  eager  to  get  the  per- 
son of  the  young  king  mto  his  possession,  having  by 
nis  aitful  letters  and  deceitful  promises  succeeded  in 
beguiling  the  queen,  who  was  an  exceedingly  weak 
woman,  into  writing  once  more  to  her  brother,  revo- 
king her    prudent    directions   respecting    the    younjj 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  OO 

Kinf['s  guard,  set  off  post  haste,  attended  by  his  friend 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  a  considerable  body 
of  armed  men,  in  hopes  of  intercepting  his  royal 
nephew,  and  his  trusty  friends,  on  the  road  to  London. 

When  the  young  king  and  his  company  approached 
the  town  of  Northampton,  where  they  designed  to 
pass  the  night,  they  had  the  mortification  of  learning 
that  it  was  full  of  soldiers,  the  followers  and  hired 
retainers  of  the  Dukes  of  Gloucester  and  Bucking 
ham.  As  these  were  the  declared  foes  of  his  family, 
the  Earl  of  Rivers  considered  he  had  sufficient  cause 
for  uneasiness  at  this  intelligence  ;  but  while  he  hal- 
ted to  deliberate  on  the  best  mode  of  proceeding  in 
this  dilemma,  the  two  dukes,  attended  by  a  few  gen- 
tlemen only,  rode  up,  and,  to  his  surprise,  greeted  him 
in  a  very  friendly  manner,  and  after  assuring  him  it 
was  their  earnest  wish  to  forget  old  grudges  and  ev- 
ery cause  of  displeasure  that  had  arisen  during  the 
reign  of  the  late  king,  they  said  they  had  rode  for- 
ward to  let  him  know  that  Northampton  was  ill  pro- 
vided for  the  reception  of  the  royal  retinue,  as  it  was 
already  occupied  by  their  followers  and  retainers,  and 
almost  destitute  of  provisions,  and  therefore  they  ad- 
vised him  to  carry  the  king  on  to  Stony  Stratford, 
which  was  twelve  .niles  nearer  to  London,  and  con 
Jajned  excellent  accommodations   of  every  kind. 

The  Earl  of  Rivers  and  his  friends  considered  thi« 


56  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

a  much  preferable  plan  for  their  royal  charge  tl  an  nia 
passing  the  night  at  Northampton,  where  he  would 
be  so  entirely  in  the  power  of  the  strong  party  of 
Gloucester.  He  assured  the  two  dukes  '  that  this  ar- 
rangement would  be  perfectly  agreeable  both  to  him- 
self and  the  king,  neither  of  whom  had  the  slightest 
wish  either  to  deprive  them  of  their  quarters  in  Nor- 
thampton, or  to  run  the  risk  of  a  quarrel  between 
their  followers  about  the  accommodations,  which  might 
arise  if  they  resolved  to  pass  the  night  in  a  town  too 
small   to  hold  them  all  with  comfort.' 

'  It  was  the  fear  of  such  a  misundersanding  that 
led  me  to  propose  the  measure  you  have  so  courte- 
ously adopted,  my  Lord  Rivers,'  said  the  Duke  of 
'xloucester,  '  for  debates  between  serving  folk  do  too 
{jft  lead  to  deadly  strife  among  their  masters,  seeing 
iiat  each  party,  in  repeating  the  tale  of  their  real  or 
maginary  wrongs'  doth  ever  pretend  that  the  quarrel 
oegan  with  injurious  mention  of  them,  by  which 
means  they  obtain  their  suffrages.' 

'  In  confirmation  of  your  observation,  my  lor(/ 
Duke,'  said  the  Earl  of  Rivers, '  we  have  only  to  re- 
call a  circumstance,  almost  within  the  memory  of 
some  present,  to  wit,  the  quarrel  between  the  serving 
men  of  the  Cardinal  Beaufort  and  his  nephew,  the  Pro- 
tector Duke  Humphrey  of  Gloucester,  which  bre.l 
fcuch  fierce  hatred  between  those  near  kinsmen  and 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  57 

rtiighty  princes  as  led  to  the  murder  of  the  latter 
which  was,  in  my  humble  opinion,  the  preliminary 
step  to  the   downfall  of  the  house  of  Lancaster.' 

'  Your  lordship  is,  of  course,  a  belter  judge  of  Lan- 
casterian  politics  than  I  can  pretend  to  be,'  observed 
the  Duke  of  Gloucester  drily,  '  but  we  will  not  intro- 
duce a  topic  so  likely  to  produce  differences  between 
those  whose  interest  it  is  to  remain  friends.  In  sooth, 
my  lord,  we  now  are,  I  trust,  united  in  one  sentiment 
of  love  and  duty  to  that  precious  child,  who  is  so 
equally  near  to  us  both  in  blood,  our  hopeful  king, 
whom  I  am  longing  to  embrace,  and  purpose,  God 
willing,  to  visit  at  Stony  Stratford,  to  pay  my  loving 
duty  unto  him.' 

'  You  will  be  dearly  welcome  to  his  Grace,  my 
lord  duke,'  replied  the  Earl,  '  and  I  will  ride  forward, 
with  pleasure,  to  advertise  King  Edward  of  your 
approach.' 

'  I  will  propose  a  better  plan,  my  lord,'  said  the 
Duke,  '  which  is,  for  you  to  give  my  friends  and  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  your  company  to  sup  with  us, 
and  pass  the  night  at  Northampton,  to  cement  our  re- 
con  iliation,  and  in  the  morning  we  will  ride  together 
3  Stratford,  to  pay  our  duty  to  our  royal  nephew.' 

*  Agreed,'  said  the  Earl,  who  was  not  willing  to 
prejudice  the  interests  of  the  young  king  by  appeal- 
ing distrustful  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  overtures  ol 


58  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

friendship ;  and,  having  sent  a  confidential  messengei 
to  imbrm  Lord  Grey  and  Sir  Thomas  Vaughan  oi 
the  arrangement,  directed  them  to  proceed  with  the 
king  to  Stony  Stratford,  and  there  to  tarry  till  lie 
should  rejoin  them  in  the  morning  with  the  Duke  o,f 
Gloucester,  he  accompanied  the  latter  into  the  town 
of  Northampton,  where  he  supped  cheerfully,  and 
passed  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  friendly  and 
confidential  intercourse,  circulating  the  wine  cup  with 
his  former  enemies.  At  a  late  hour  he  retired  to  re- 
pose at  a  commodious  inn  that  had  been  appointed  for 
his  reception  in  the  town,  suspecting  no  evil  design 
from  those  who  had  lavished  so  many  marks  of  re- 
gard upon  him. 

The  sequel  shows  how  unworthy  they  were  of 
his  confidence,  for  no  sooner  had  he  retired  to  rest, 
chan  they  secured  the  keys  of  the  inn  where  he  was 
sleeping,  and  posted  a  number  of  armed  men  on  the 
read  between  Northampton  and  Stony  Stratford,  to 
prevent  any  one  from  entering  that  town  to  give  the 
alarm  to  the  young  king  and  Earl  Rivers's  friends 
and  followers. 

At  break  of  day,  when  they  were  ready  to  mount, 
the   Earl   was  still  in  bed  and  asleep,  but  one  of   his 
attendants  finding  that  no  ore  was    permitted  to  leave 
the  inn,  suspected  treachery,  and  came    hastily    to    a 
wake  him,  and    acquaint  him  with  the  dilemma  they 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  59 

urere  in.  The  fearful  consequence  of  the  imj,rudence, 
of  wliich  he  had  been  guilty,  flashed  upon  the  Earl's 
mind,  and  hurrying  on  his  clothes,  he  ordered  one  of 
the  doors  to  be  forced  open,  and  proceeded,  in  some 
anger,  to  inquire  of  the  two  dukes  the  cause  of  his 
attempted  detention.  He  found  them  in  the  very  hu- 
mor to  give  and  take  offence.  The  game  was  now 
in  their  own  hands,  and  they  only  wanted  a  pretext 
for  coming  to  an  open  rupture  with  him.  High 
words  presently  arose  on  both  sides,  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  upbraided  him  with  endeavoring  to  alien- 
ate the  affections  of  the  young  king  from  his  nearest 
relations  and  most  faithful  subjects;  and  refusing  to 
listen  to  any  explanation  or  justification,  he  concluded 
by  arresting  him,  and  giving  him  into  the  custody  of 
some  of  his  attendants,  and  without  paying  the  slight- 
est regard  to  his  protestations  against  such  treache- 
rous usage,  he,  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  moun- 
ted and  rode  off  to  Stony  Stratford,  to  join  the  king. 
They  found  the  young  monarch  in  a  melancholy 
mood,  still  lamenting  over  the  recent  loss  of  the  king 
his  father.  He  received  his  uncle,  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  with  much  respect,  and  courteously  accep- 
ted the  homage  which  he  an  1  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, with  great  profession  of  duty  and  loyal  affec- 
tion, offered  him  ;  but  there  was  a  visible  shade  of 
premature  care  and  sorrow  on  his  youthful  brow,  and 


60  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

his  eyes  were  trequently  turned  towards  the  Joor  witli 
an  expression  that  plainly  indicated  his  anxious  ex- 
pectation of  some  one  who  came  not.  At  length  tlie 
Duke  of  Gloucester  addressed  him  in  these  words  : — 
'  Fair  nephew  and  my  lord,  I  have  been  at  the 
pains  of  coming  hither  with  a  goodly  appointed  band 
of  armed  men  and  sundry  honorable  knights  and  gen- 
tles, in  order  that  I  might  attend  your  grace  to  Lon- 
don, and  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  presenting  you  to 
the  good  citizens  of  London  as  their  king.' 

'  I  am  grateful  for  your  loving  care  and  courtesj'-, 
my  lord,'  replied  the  young  king  with  a  deep  sigh. 

'  And,'  rejoined  the  Duke,  '  as  it  is  near  unto  high 
noon,  1  hold  it  time  for  us  to  mount  and  be  going.' 

'  With  your  leave,  my  lord,'  replied  the  king, '  I  pur- 
pose tarrying  for  my  uncle  Rivers,  who  left  our  com- 
pany last  night  to  hold  conference  with  your  lordship 
at  Northampton  ;  after  which  I  received  a  message, 
purporting  to  be  from  him,  advertising  me  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  sup  with  you  and  my  lord  of  Bucking- 
ham, at  your  lodgings  in  that  town  ;  but  pledging 
himself  to  be  with  me  at  an  early  hour  this  morning, 
and  I  marvel  much  that  he  hath  not  kept  his  prom- 
ise.    I  hope  no  misadventure  hath  befallen  him.' 

•  Most  probably  my  lord  of  Gloucester  can  best  ex- 
plain the  reason  of  our  noble  uncle's  delay,  my  royal 
brother,'  said  the  young  lord  Grey,  casting  a  glance 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  6l 

ot  unequivocal  meaning  upon  the   Duke  of  Glouce- 
ster. 

'  The  explanation  you  desire,  my  fair  sir,'  returned 
the  duke,  '  shall  be  given  in  a  very  few  words. 
Your  uncle  Rivers  is  at  present  at  Northampton, 
in  safe  keeping.' 

'  In  safe  keeping  ! '  echoed  Lord  Grey  fiercely,  lay- 
ing hand  cm  his  sword,  '  who  has  dared  to  put  re- 
straint upon  his  noble  person  ?  ' 

The  young  king,  in  milder  language,  but  with 
much  emotion,  repeated  his  brother's  question :  a 
fearful  suspicion  of  the  truth  flashing  upon  his  mind, 
and  blanching  his  cheek  to  a  deadly  paleness  as  he 
spoke. 

'  I  entreat  of  your  grace  to  be  composed,'  said  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester,  '  for,  in  sooth,  you  are  much  to 
blame  to  agitate  yourself  on  the  account  of  a  false 
traitor,  whom  my  tender  concern  for  your  weal  hath 
compelled  me  to  place  under  restraint  for  a  few  days, 
lest  his  evil  practices  should  alienate  the  affections  of 
your  loyal  subjects  from  you,  and  you  should  be  left 
like  Rehoboam,  with  only  a  remnant  of  the  flourish- 
ing kingdom  bequeathed  by  your  father.' 

'  It  is  not — it  cannot  be  my  trusty,  my  loving  uncle 
Rivers,  of  whom  you  speak,  my  lord,'  exclaimed  the 
king  in  a  tone  of  great  distress.     '  Some  villain  hatb 


62  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

belied  him,'  continued  he,  '  but  I  will  be  his  surety 
and  pledge  my  royal  word  on  his  loyalty  to  me  and 
mine.' 

'  Tut !  tut  I  tut !  your  g^ace  is  a  child,  and  no  com- 
petent judge  of  such  matters,'  retorted  the  Duke  ol 
Gloucester,  '  and  since  you  are  so  foolishly  blind  to 
the  vile  arts  and  treasonable  practices  of  your  mater- 
nal kinsman,  it  is,  methinks,  high  time  that  persons 
of  maturer  age,  and  greater  discretion  than  can  be 
expected  at  your  tender  years,  should  assist  you  in 
guiding  the  helm  of  state  for  awhile  ;  and  I,  as  the 
only  brother  of  your  father,  the  late  king,  am  gener- 
ally considered,  by  your  best  friends  and  most  faith- 
ful subjects,  as  your  fittest  guardian,  however  you 
may  prefer  the  guidance  of  Rehoboam's  counsellors 
to  your  own  ruin.' 

'  As  my  father's  honored  brother,  and  my  superior 
in  age  and  wisdom,  I  am  in  duty  bound  to  listen 
with  submission  to  your  reproofs,  my  lord  duke,'  re 
plied  the  king,  bursting  into  tears  ;  '  but  it  is  not  the 
bitterness  of  your  taunts  that  shall  prevent  me  from 
maintaining  the  innocence  of  my  good  uncle  Rivers, 
and  demanding  his   instant  enlargement.' 

'  Spoken  like  a  king  and  a  Planlagenet,  my  royal 
brother,'  exclaimed  Lord  Grey,  with  kindling  eyes. 

'Like  a  rash  inconsiderate  boy,  who  is  bent  on  his 
own   destruction,    rather,'    observed    the     Duke    of 


ROYAL     BROTHERS.  63 

Gloucester,  in  a  low  stern  voice.     '  But  come,  my  liege, 
to  horse  ;  the  day  wears  apace,  and  delay  is  useless.' 

'  But  my  uncle,  my  dear,  dear  uncle  Eivers  ! '  cried 
the  king,  wringii  g  his  hands.  '  Only  restore  him 
to  me,  and  I  will  be  obedient  to  all  your  wishes,  un- 
cle Gloucester.' 

'  Nay,  marry,  my  liege,  that  is  the  very  way  to 
render  you  otherwise.  Your  uncle  Rivers,  that  false 
traitor,  hath  been  too  long  about  you  for  your  own 
weal.  He  hath  taught  you  to  distrust  your  real 
friends,  and,  therefore,  he  must  be  removed  from 
you  a  season.' 

'  Ah,  Richard  ! '   said  the  young  monarch,  turning 
with  tearful  eyes  to  his  half-brother.  Lord  Grey,  '  you 
told  me,  not  three  days  ago,  that  it  was  a  brave  thing 
to  be  a  king,  and  called  my  followers  to  bear  me  wit 
ness  of  the  same.     What  say  you  to  it  now  ?  ' 

'Say!'  muttered  Lord  Grey  between  his  shut 
teeth,  '  why,  that  were  I  a  king,  I  would  on  such  in- 
jurious usage  to  my  friends  and  kinsmen  assert  my 
prerogative,  and  let  yon  misshapen  railer  know  who 
was  his  master.' 

'  Whist,  Richard,  whist !  '  whispered  Sir  Thomas 
Vaughan,  pointing  to  the  armed  men  who  filled  the 
court  yard,  '  see  you  not  the  wild  boar  hath  his  tusKS 
prepared  to  rend  us.  For  the  love  of  all  the  samts, 
urge   not   the  yH  ang  king  to  chafe  him,  for  the  Duke 


64  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

will  gladly  embrace  any  pretext   for  strife  since  he  ia 
the  strongest.' 

Lord  Grey  bit  his  lip,  and  with  ill  dissembled  dis- 
content prepared  to  follow  his  royal  brother,  when,  in 
obedience  of  a  second  impatient  summons  to  mount 
from  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  Edward  rose  and  led 
the  way  to  the  court  yard.  The  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, who  had  hitherto  been  a  passive  agent  in  the 
scene,  now  started  forward  with  officious  haste  to  hold 
the  king's  stirrup,  and  contrived  to  engage  him  in 
conversation  as  they  rode  through  the  town  ;  and  by 
flattering  him  with  hopes  of  his  uncle's  speedy  re- 
lease, so  completely  beguiled  his  attention  from  what 
was  passing  in  the  rear  of  the  cavalcade,  that  he  was 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  a  brief  but  fierce  alterca- 
tion between  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  and  Lord  Grey, 
in  which  even  the  wary  Sir  Thomas  Vaughan  was 
involved,  had  terminated  in  the  arrest  of  these  and 
two  or  three  others  of  his  most  devoted  friends ;  nor 
was  it  till  they  halted  for  dinner  that  the  king  missed 
his  brother,  who,  in  virtue  of  a  post  of  honour  that  he 
held  about  his  person,  always  stood  behind  his  chaij 
during  that  meal. 

'  Will  it  not  please  your  grace  to  sit  down  to  meat, 
said  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  on  perceiving  the  king 
looked  inquiringly  round  him,  instead  of  placing  him* 
self  at  table. 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  65 

*  Where  is  the  Lord  Grey  ?'  demanded  the  king. 
There  was  an  ominous  silence  among  his  attendants^ 

*  Where  is  my  brother  Richard,  Lord  Grey  ?  '  said 
the  kmg,  repeating  his  question,  in  an  authoritative 
voice. 

'  Where  your  grace's  faithful  counsellors  consider 
ll  their  duty  to  dispose  of  all  false-hearted  traitors, 
replied    the  Duke  of  Gloucester. 

'  And  who  shall  dare  to  class  my  true  and  loving 
brother,  Richard  Grey,  with  traitors  ?'  retorted  the 
young  king  with  a  frown. 

*  Alack,  my  liege,  I  would  that  painful  duty  had 
not  fallen  to  the  lot  of  your  faithful  guardian  and 
lip;htly-regarded  uncle,  Richard  of  Gloucester,'  said  the 
duke  with  a  sigh  ;  '  yet  so  it  hath  been  ;  for  I  grieve 
to  tell  you  that  he  and  your  other  maternal  brother, 
Thomas  Marquis  of  Dorset,  have  both  been  engaged 
in  a  base  conspiracy,  to  seize  the  Tower  of  London, 
and  make  themselves  masters  of  your  arms,  treasures, 
and  crown  jewels  ;  and  your  royal  person  being  alrea- 
dy in  possession  of  the  said  Richard  and  his  party, 
It  was  their  treasonable  design  to  govern  in  your 
grace's  name,  and  to  commit  all  sorts  of  grievous 
wrong  and  robbery,  till  the  people  could  bear  it  no 
longer.' 

'  These  are  gra\  e  assertions,  my  lord,'   replied  the 
6 


66  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

'iing ;  '  but  fortunately  the  laws  of  this  happy  land 
Arill  not  suffer  any  one  to  be  treated  as  g^uijty  upon 
issertion  only.' 

'  And  does  your  grace  assume  that  I  bear  false  wit* 
less  against  your  traitor  brothers  ? '  demanded  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester. 

'  Uncle,  I  said  not  so,'  returned  the  king  ;    '  but  I 

.ell    you  plainly,  I  will  not  hear  the  epithet  of  traitor 

applied  to  my  mother's  sons  and  mine  own  brethren.' 

'  Not  when    their  vile  practices  have    so    deeply 

earned  it  ?  '    said  the  Duke. 

'  I  must  first  be  convinced  that  such  is  the  fact, 
returned  the  king  gravely.  '  Would  you,  uncle 
Gloucester,  wish  to  be  condemned  on  the  bare  accu- 
sation of  an  enemy  ?  ' 

'  Melhinks  it  would  become  your  grace  to  treat 
your  uncle  more  reverentially  than  to  bandy  words 
with  him  thus,'  said  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  per- 
ceiving that  his  friend,  with  all  his  subtlety,  knew 
not  how  to  answer  this  home  question. 

'  Ay,  my  good  lord,'  rejoined  Gloucester,  'and  all 
because  his  grace  is  willing  to  remain  blind  to  the 
-.rimes  of  the  two  false  traitors,  Dorset  and  Richard 
Grey.' 

*  Respecting  my  brother  Dorset's  conduct  I  can  say 
nothing,,'  replied  the  king,  '  for  of  him,  notwithstand- 
mg  our  near  relationship,  I  know   little  :    and   I  am 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  67 

aware  withal  that  he  has  been  iniplicatBd  in  a  foul 
deed  of  blood,  the  knowledge  of  which  must  deprive 
him  of  the  confidence  of  all  good  men ;  I  allude,  my 
lord  of  Gloucester,  to  the  barbarous  murder  of  my 
unhappy  cousin,  Edward  of  Lancaster.'  The  chan- 
ging colour  and  deadly  glance  of  vengeful  meaning, 
with  which  the  duke  regarded  the  king,  showed  he 
understood  the  imprudent  inuendo.  '  But  as  for  Rich- 
ard Grey,'  continued  the  youthful  monarch,  'I  can  and 
will  answer  for  his  innocence,  and  1  both  entreat  and 
command  his    immediate  release.' 

'  Your  grace,  although  nominally  a  king,  would 
be  wise  to  refrain  from  issuing  commands  which  you 
have  no  power  to  enforce,'  said  the  Duke  of  Glouce- 
ster coldly. 

The  king  turned  away  and  wept ;  tnen,  with  all  the 
eloquence  which  his  affectionate  nature  taught  him, 
he  implored  him  to  restore  his  uncle  Rivers  and  his 
brother  Richard  Grey  to  him.  The  duke  was  inex- 
orable, and  the  young  monarch  gave  way  to  a  second 
passionate  burst  of  grief.  Without  regarding  his 
sorrow,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  urged  him  to  dine 
in  a  tone  that  amounted  to  a  command. 

'  How  can  I  eat  when  my  brother  is  afflicted  and 
in  prison,  and  fasting  perchance  ? '  said  the  king  ; 
then  taking  the  golden  plate  (on  which  the  Duke 
of  Gloucesier  had,  with   an  officious  show  of   atten- 


68  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

lion,  select(,'d  several  of  the  choicest  dainties  en  th« 
table,  and  placed  before  him),  he  gave  it  to  his  page, 
and  said,  '  Commend  me  to  my  brother,  the  Lord 
Grey,  my  good  Edwin,  and  tell  him  his  brother  Ed- 
ward of  England  weeps  for  his  absence,  and  be- 
seeches him  to  dine  from  his  own  plate,  and  to  be 
of  o;ood  cheer,  and  not  to  omit  lo  remember  him  in 
his  prayers  who  will  spend  this  day  in  fasting  and 
supplications  to  Almighty  God  on  his  behalf.'  So 
saying,  the  young  king  rose  from  table,  and  retired 
to  a  private  chamber,  where  he  poured  forth  the  sor- 
row of  his  afflicted  spirit  in  fervent  prayer  to  the 
Divine  Disposer  of  all  earthly  events,  imploring  His 
protection  for  himself,  and  His  mercy  for  his  unfor- 
tunate kinsmen.  He  was  not  long  permitted  to  en- 
joy his  lonely  communion  with  God  ;  for  no  sooner 
had  the  dukes  and  their  attendants  dined,  than  he 
received  an  imperative  message  from  his  uncle  Glou- 
cester, to  make  ready  to  mount,  for  it  was  necessary 
to  continue  his  journey  to  London  with  all-convenient 
despatch. 

However  distasteful  this  mandate  was  to  the  young 
king,  he  did  not  attempt  to  dispute  it,  but  after  once 
more  commending  himself  to  the  care  of  Him  who 
hath  promised  to  be  a  father  to  the  fatherless,  he 
meekly  rejoined  his  new  guardian,  and  submitted 
himself  to  his  direction.     Ins'.ead  of  proceeding  on  the 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  69 

London  road,  however,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  by 
a  retrograde  route,  conducted  the  king  to  Northamp- 
ton, where  he  detained  him  till  he  was  assured  that 
the  Earl  of  Rivers,  Lord  Grey,  Sir  Thomas  Vaughan, 
and  all  his  approved  friends  and  protectors,  were 
safely  lodged  in  Pontefract  Castle,  the  governor  of 
which  was  a  creature  of  his  own,  and  capable  of 
any  work  of  villany.  The  next  proceeding  of  the 
Di"ke  of  Gloucester  was  to  remove  from  the  person 
of  his  royal  nephew  every  domestic  and  officer  in 
V  nom  he  appeared  to  place  the  slightest  confidence, 
and  the  king  found  himself  surrounded  by  spies  and 
incendiaries,  and  deprived  of  the  society  of  all  those 
on  whose  affection  and  fidelity  he  had  been  accustom- 
ed to  rely.  Remonstrance  and  complaint  were  alike 
unavailing ;  he  perceived  that  he  was,  though  treat- 
ed with  all  outward  marks  of  deference  and  stately 
formality,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  those  on  whom  he  had  too  much  reason 
to  look  with  suspicion  and  aversion. 

The  Duke  of  Gloucester  did  not  attempt  to  conceal 
from  him  that  the  doom  of  his  beloved  friends  at  Pon- 
tefract Castle  was  sealed  ;  and  he  tried  in  vain  to 
move  his  obdurate  heart,  from  day  to  day,  with  inces- 
sant tears  and  entreaties  in  their  behalf.  There  were 
moments  too,  when  yielding  to  the  indigna'.ion  which 
ihe  conduc  t  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  was  calculated 


70  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

to  inspire  in  a  generous  bosom,  he  loaded  him  with 
the  most  passionate  reproaches,  and  bade  him  render 
him  the  obedience  which,  as  his  sovereign,  was  hia 
due  ;  but  this  only  drew  upon  him  cutting  sarcasms 
or  was  listened  to  with  scornful  contempt. 

Sometimes,  as  a  desperate  resource,  the  unhappy 
prince  applied  himself  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
and  implored  his  protection  and  assistance  ;  but  the 
wily  courtier  (though  hg  heard  him  with  every  show 
of  attention  and  interest,  and  was  lavish  of  soothing 
words  and  professions  of  afTection)  was,  he  quickly 
perceived,  no  more  disposed  to  befriend  him  than  his 
iron-hearted  uncle  Gloucester. 

The  very  looks  of  the  attendants  and  officers  thai 
^ur^ounded  him  convinced  the  unhappy  Edward  that 
it  was  a  hopeless  idea,  if  he  had  ever  imagined  it  pos- 
sible, to  make  the  slightest  impression  on  them  ;  and 
feeling  assured  of  this,  he  spared  himself  the  bittei 
humiliation  of  receiving  a  repulse,  by  refraining  frorr. 
addressing  either  of  them  on  the  subject  nearest  his 
heart. 

Thoughts  of  his  distant  mother,  his  beloved  brother 
the  young  Duke  of  York,  and  the  princesses  his 
sisters,  to  whom  every  hour  now  brought  him  nearer 
(for  he  had  recommenced  his  journey  towards  the  me- 
tropolis), alone  prevented  him  from  abandoning  him- 
self to  utter  despair;    but   from   those   dear  ones  ha 


ROYAT,    BROTHERS. 

neard  not,  and  at  times  his  young  spirit  was  saddened 
*vith  fears  an  1  anxieties  on  their  account.  There 
was  no  one  by  whom  he  could  venture  to  send  his  du- 
tiful and  loving  greetings  to  the  queen  his  mother, 
and  the  assurances  of  his  tender  renembrance  to  his 
brother  and  sisters,  and  this  grieved  him  not  a  little. 
He  doubted  not  that  many  affectionate  letters  and  kind 
messages  from  the  queen  had  been  intercepted  by  his 
jealous  guardian,  therefore  he  did  not  impute  her  si- 
lence to  any  other  cause,  and  eagerly  anticipated  the 
time  when   they  should  meet  again. 

The  city  of  London,  meantime,  was  in  a  complete 
ferment,  on  account  of  the  late  arrests  that  had  taken 
place  at  Stony  Stratford.  Whispers  and  dark  surmi- 
ses respecting  the  conduct  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester 
were  in  circulation.  It  was  known  that  the  queen, 
with  the  young  Duke  of  York  and  the  five  princes- 
ses her  daughters,  had  left  the  palace  in  the  dead  ol 
night,  and  taken  sanctuary  at  Westminster  in  great 
alarm,  as  soon  as  the  intelligence  of  the  seizure  of 
the  young  king's  person  by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
and  the  arrest  of  her  brother  the  Earl  of  Rivers,  her 
son  Lord  Grey,  and  their  friends,  reached  her. 

It  was  rumoured  that  evil  designs  were  meditated 
against  the  king,  and  that  he  was  neither  more  nor 
less  tnan  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  his  wicked  and 
ambitious  uncle,   and   the  minds  of  all  sorts  and  con 


4»  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

iitions  of  men  were  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitemeu 
as  tc  what  might  be  the  event  of  these  thmgs. 

The  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  was  well  informed 
of  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  people,  found  that  the  on- 
ly way  of  quieting  their  suspicions  would  be  by  pro- 
ducing his  royal  nephew  before  them.  Accordingly, 
on  the  tourlh  of  May  he  made  his  public  entry  into 
London,  accompanied  by  a  powerful  party  of  his  own, 
and  a  splendid  train  of  nobles,  who  were  summoned 
in  all  haste  to  attend  the  king,  before  whom  the  duke 
rode  bare-headed,  and  bowing  to  the  populace  right 
and  left,  kept  perpetually  exclaiming  in  a  loud  voice, 
•  Behold  your  prince  and  sovereign  I  ' 

The  beauty  and  reflective  sweetness  of  the  young 
king's  countenance  attracted  all  eyes,  and  the  manly 
grace  and  spirit  with  which  he  managed  his  mettled 
steed,  and  saluted  the  ladies  (who  showered  flowers 
upon  him  from  the  crowded  windows  and  balconies), 
delighted  every  one,  and  the  streets  resounded  with 
acclamations  of  '  God  save  King  Edward  and  con- 
found his  enemies ! ' 

Jt  was  a  day  of  splendid  pageantry  and  universal 
joy  ;  but  it  was  observed  by  many,  that,  notwithstan 
ding  the  princely  courtesy  with  which  the  youthful 
monarch  acknowledged  and  returned  the  lovinsf  gfreet- 
ings  of  his  subjects,  there  was  a  sorrowful  expression 
in  his  eyes,  and  his   very  smile  was  full  of  sadness 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  73 

He  appeared  to  take  little  pleasure  in  the  gay  ai  d  ani- 
mating scene  in  which,  though  he  here  so  distinguislied 
a  part,  he  was  too  well  aware  he  was  only  a  gilded 
puppet,  played  oft'  by  the  hands  of  his  guileful  kins- 
man, to  suit  his  own  ends,  and  to  give  a  color  to  hia 
secret  plans  of  trea.son. 

The  princely  boy  felt  tob  that,  amidst  the  throng- 
ing multitudes  that  came  to  gaze  upon  him,  he  was  a 
lonely  being,  without  one  friend  on  whose  affection 
he  could  rely,  or  to  whom  he  could  breathe  a  single 
word  in  confidence.  He  turned  inquiring  glances  on 
the  faces  of  the  nobles  that  surrounded  him  ;  but  they 
were  all  picked  men,  and  in  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's 
interest.  They  preserved  a  cold  formal  demeanour 
of  outwari  respect ;  but  the  youthful  monarch  per- 
ceived that  from  them  it  would  be  in  vain  to  expect 
sympathy  or  service.  He  thought  of  his  beloved  rel- 
atives then  in  unjust  confinement  in  their  gloomy 
prison  of  Pontefract  Castle,  and  of  his  fond  mother, 
and  the  dear  companions  of  his  childhood,  who  had 
been  compelled  to  seek  an  asylum  in  the  sanctuary ; 
and  in  spite  of  his  endeavours  to  restrain  them,  tears 
filled  his  eyes.  The  pageant  was  joyless,  the  music 
discord,  and  the  stately  ceremonials  weariness  and 
vexation  of  spirit  to  him ;  and  when  the  procession 
reached  Ely  House,  which  was  appointed  for  his  tem 


74  HISTORICAL    TALES, 

porary  ros-idence,  he  gladly  sought  the  privacy  of  his 
chamber,  that  he  might  relieve  his  full  heart  by  weep- 
ing unobserved. 

*  In  tears,  my  royal  lord  ?'  said  a  soothing  voice 
near  him. 

The  young  king,  who  thought  he  had  been  alone, 
hastily  dashed  away  the  sorrowful  drops  in  great  con- 
fusion, and  essayed  to  force  s  smile  as  he  raised  his 
eyes  slowly  lo  the  face  of  the  unknown  witness  or 
his   emotion. 

'  It  will  not  do.  King  Edward,  it  will  not  do  ! '  said 
the  intruder,  who  was  no  other  than  his  host,  the 
Bishop  of  Ely.  '  Alas,  poor  child !  it  is  easy  for  thee 
to  learn  the  courtly  lesson  of  covering  a  heart  of  tears 
with  a  face  of  smiles  I ' 

'  You  are  a  shrewd  observer,  my  lord,'  said  the 
young  king,  looking  anxiously   in  the  bishop's  face. 

'  I  am  a  stranger,  and  your  grace  would  fain  in- 
quire whether  I  may  be  trusted  ?'  said  the  bishop. 

'  I  believe,  and  am  sure  you  may,'  replied  the  king 
to  whose  ear  the  voice  of  kindness  had    long  been 
strange,  eagerly  pressing  his  hand. 

'  Your  Grace's  confidence  is  not  misplaced,'  sa'd 
the  prelate ;  '  but  0  beware,  my  son,  of  trusting 
too  readily  to  soft  words  and  plausible  appearances.' 

'  Oh  that  my  dear  uncle  Rivers  had  learned  that 
fesson,  replied  the  king,  '  then  had  he  not  been  so  ea- 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  i5 

siiy  beguiled  by  his  subtle  enemies.  But  tell  me,  my 
lord  bishop,  is  there  no  means  by  which  his  deliver- 
ance, and  that  of  my  loving  brother,  the  Lord  Gr'^y, 
may  be  efTecled  ? ' 

'  I  fear,  I  fear  those  noble  lords  are  in  hands  from 
which  no  deliverance  may  be  hoped ;  Sir  "Richard 
RatclifT,  the  governor  of  Pontefract  Castle,  is  a  bold 
bad  man,  who  will  not  scruple  to  execute  any  man- 
date of  blood  he  may  receive  from  his  patron,  the 
Duke ' 

The  king  looked  apprehensively  round,  as  if  fear- 
ful of  the  bishop's  pronouncing  the  name  of  his  un- 
cle Gloucester,  and  softly  pressing  his  arm,  whisper- 
ed, '  What  tidings  of  the  queen  my  mother,  my  sweet 
brother  York,  and  my  beloved  sisters.  Are  they  all 
well  ? ' 

'  They  are  all  well,  my  dear  lord.' 

'  And  safe  ? ' 

'  As  safe  as  holy  church  privilege  of  sanctuary  can 
keep  them,  but  of  sorrowful  cheer.' 

'But  will  you  go  to  them,  my  lord  bishop?'  said 
the  king,  '  and  will  you  comfort  my  royal  mother,  and 
bear  my  loving  and  dutiful  greetings  to  her,  and  as- 
sure her  of  my  health  and  present  safety ;  and  will 
you  kiss  my  little  brother  the  Duke  of  York,  for  me, 
and  commend  me  to  all  my  sweet  sisters,  Elizabeth, 
Cicely,  Anne,  Catharme,   and  baby  Bridget,  and  tei' 


76  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

them  1  live  in  hopes  of  embracing  them  all  once 
more,  and  were  I  free  to  do  so,  I  would  hasten  to 
them,  and  deliver  mine  own  greetings ;  for  neither 
you,  my  lord  bishop,  however  kind,  nor  any  one  be- 
side myself,  can  tell  half  the  love  for  them  with 
which  my  heart  overflows.' 

'  I  am  loth  to  check  the  sweet  brea.hings  of  that 
natural  affection  which  doth  so  well  become  your  roy- 
al grace,'  said  the  bishop  :  '  but  remember,  our  con- 
ference is  too    perilous  to  be  prolonged.' 

'  Well  then,  my  kind  lord,  we  will  separate,  and 
abstain  from  all  apparent  friendship  with  each  other,' 
said  the  king  ;  '  nevertheless,  it  will  be  a  solace  to  my 
sad  heart  to  know  that  I  am  under  the  roof  of  a  good 
man,  and  I  shall  eat  of  your  bread,  my  lord  of  Ely, 
with  pleasure  ;  and  if  ever  I  am  permitted  to  govern 
for  myself,  you  shall  be  the  most  honoured  of  my 
counsellors.' 

The  bishop  regarded  the  princely  speaker  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  and  pressing  the  hand  that  was  so 
frankly  extended  to  him  to  his  lips,  he  glided  from 
the  apartment  through  the  private  door  of  communi- 
cation with   his  own  study,  by  which  he  entered  it. 

On  rejoining  the  company  at  dinner,  it  w^as  observ- 
ed that  the  young  king's  manner  was  more  cheerful 
than  it  had  been  for  many  days,  and  though  he  avoid- 
ed conveising  with   the  bishop   of  Ely,  he  could  not 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  7 

tefrain  looking  upon  him  at  times  with  an  expression 
of  such  affectionate  regard,  that  the  suspicions  of  his 
wily  uncle,  by  whom  he  was  narrowly  watched,  were 
excited,  and  he  instantly  resolved  to  remove  the  royal 
youth  from  under  the  roof  of  the  worthy  prelate. 
Nor  did  he  delay  longer  than  the  following  day  .na- 
king  his  purpose  known  to  the  young  king,  whom  he 
found  alone  in  the  episcopal  library,  deeply  engaged 
in  reading  a  curiously  illuminated  MS. work,  written 
by  Alfred  the  Great,  intitled,  '  The  various  Fortunes 
of-Kings.* 

'I  am  sorry  to  be  under  the  necessity  of  interrup- 
ting your  grace  in  the  pleasant  and  profitable  occupa- 
tion of  pursuing  your  studies,'  said  the  duke,  '  but  it 
is  expedient  that  you  should  make  yourself  ready  to 
remove  immediately  from  Ely  House  to  the  Tower.' 

The  cheek  of  the  young  king  faded  to  the  most 
deadly  paleness  at  this  announcement,  and  dropping 
the  roll  of  vellum  from  his  cold  and  trembling  hand, 
he  exclaimed, 

•  To  the  Tower,  uncle !  0  surely  you  do  not 
mean  to  send  me  there  ! ' 

•  And  why  should  you  object  to  take  up  your  tem- 
porary   residence  in   that  ancient  abode    of   royalty 
where  so  many  of  your  ancestors,  the  kirgs  of  Eng 
laud,  have  kept  court?'  asked  the  duke- 


78  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

'Oh,  my  brd  I '  replied  the  king,  fixng  his  eyea 
steadily  upon  the  guilty  countenan:e  of  his  conscious 
uncle,  '  the  Tower  has  been  a  place  so  fatal  of  late  to 
princes,  that  I  cannot  contemplate  without  horror  the 
prospect  of  going  thither.' 

'  Do  you  presume,  ungrateful  boy,  to  suspect  me  ol 
entertaining  evil  designs  against  you?'  returned  the 
duke,  becoming  pale  with  suppressed  anger. 

'  God  forbid  that  I  should  imagine  you  capable,  un- 
cle, of  acting  so  foul  a  part  as  to  betray  the  solemn 
trust  that  you  have  undertaken,'  replied  the  king,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  '  so  far  as  to  seek  the  life  of  a  help- 
less orphan,  of  whom  you  style  yourself  the  protec 
tor.' 

'  Why  then  these  childish  tears,  and  this  perverse 
reluctance  to  comply  with  my  arrangements  ?  '  asked 
the  duke  sternly. 

The  king  continued  to  weep.  His  uncle  regarded 
him  with  a  contemptuous  expression  of  countenance. 

'  Have  pity  upon  me,  uncle,'  said  the  king,  '  and  do 
not  send  me  to  that  den  of  blood  and  midnight  mur- 
ders, the  Tower.  Let  me  remain  here,  and  complete 
mj'  studies  under  the  direction  of  the  good  Dr.  Morton.' 

'  No,  no,'  replied  the  duke,  '  short  as  has  been  your 
sojourn  at  Ely  House,  you  have  been  under  the  direc 
lion  of  that  wily  priest  too  long,  my  lord,  and  you  go 
hence  this  very  day.' 


ROVAL  BROTHERS.  79 

'  Well,  then,  take  me  to  Crosby  House,  your  own 
palace,  uncle,  where  I  shall  be  too  immediately  under 
your  own  eye  for  you  to  entertain  suspicions  of  my 
holding  intercourse  with  forbidden  persons,'  said  the 
king  imploringly. 

'  And  why  should  you  prefer  my  poor  abode  oi 
Crosby  House  to  your  own  royal  residence,  the  Tow- 
er of  London  ? '  demanded  the  duke  with  a  scrutini- 
zing look. 

'  Because,  my  lord,  I  shall  there  be  under  the  lov- 
ing care  of  your  noble  consort,  my  kind  aunt  the 
Duchess  of  Gloucester,  and  enjoy  the  society  of  my 
fair  young  cousin  Prince  Edward,  your  son,'  replied 
the  king,  taking  his  uncle's  hand  caressingly,  and  ga. 
zing  anxiously  in  his  face,  in  the  vain  hope  of  soften- 
ing his  obdurate  heart  by  alluding  to  these  supposed 
objects  of  his  affection. 

'  No,  no.  King  Edward,'  returned  the  duke,  '  you 
have  been  too  long  under  the  tutelage  of  your  moth- 
er's traitor  brother,  the  Earl  of  Rivers,  to  admit 
you  into  mine  own  domicile.  Why,  the  Duchess 
Anne,  my  wife,  and  you,  would  encourage  each  oth- 
er in  contumacious  resistance  of  my  will,  and  be- 
tween ye  both,  my  dutiful  and  hopeful  boy  would 
learn  perversity  and  disobedience  ;  besides,'  added  he, 
softening  his  voice  on  perceiving  the  proud  flush  thai 
overspread  the  countenance  of  his  royal  nephew  al 


so  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

this  rude  rejoinder,  '  my  house  is  meanly  furnisKed, 
und  wholly  unprovided  for  the  reception  of  my  sover- 
eign ;  therefore,  my  gracious  liege,  it  is  a  matter  of 
necessity  that  you  should  keep  court  at  the  Tow- 
er till  after  your  coronation,  which  I  propose  to  take 
place  very  speedily.' 

'  Then  may  I  not  be  permitteed  to  see  the  queen 
my  mother,  my  dear  brother,  and  my  gentle  sisters  ? 
demanded  the  king. 

'  It  is  no  fault  of  mine,  that  they  have  not  been, 
ere  now,  to  pay  their  duty  to  your  Grace,'  said  the 
duke  ;  '  but  that  evil  woman,  the  queen  your  mother, 
hath  perversely  betaken  herself  to  sanctuary,  with 
Prince  Kichard  and  your  sisters,  with  whom  she  con- 
tumaciously refused  to  part,  even  for  an  hour.' 

'  The  manner  of  your  dealing  with  her  brother, 
mine  honoured  uncle  Rivers,  and  her  son  the  Lord 
Grey,  hath  made  her  suspicious  of  you,  uncle  Glouce- 
ster,' replied  the  king;  'but  if  you  will  permit  me 
to  visit  her  in  the  sanctuary' — 

*  I  shall  permit  your  grace  to  do  no  such  thing,'  in 
terrupted  the  Duke  sharply. 

'  You  will  not,  at  any  rate,  refuse  me  the  liberty  of 
writing  to  my  royal   mother,'  said  the  king. 

'  Not  if  you  will  endeavour  to  prevail  upon  her  to 
deliver  up  the  Duke  of  York,  your  brother,  whom  she 
hath  stolen  away.' 


ROYAL   BROTHERS.  81 

'  It  would  ill  become  me,  at  my  tender  years,  to  pre- 
lume  to  dictate  to  my  royal  mother  in  any  thing,'  re- 
plied the  young  king,  grarely,  '  but  especially  in  a 
matter  that  doth  so  nearly  touch  herself,  and  of  which 
she  must  of  necessity  be  a  far  more  competent  judge 
than  myself.' 

*  But  you  have  lately  complained  of  loneliness  and 
want  of  meet  associates,  my  fair  nephew,'  said  the 
duke,  '  and  who  should  be  so  suitable  a  companion 
for  you,  both  in  your  studies  and  your  pastimes,  as 
the  young  prince  your  brother.  Would  you  not  wish 
to  have  him  with  you,  Edward  ?  ' 

'  Not  if  I  purchased  that  pleasure  by  being  the 
cause  of  tearing  him  from  my  mother's  arms,  who 
hath  sorrows  enow,   without  being  deprived  of  him.' 

'  She  cannot  long  withhold  him  from  the  demands  of 
the  nation,  whose  property  he  is ;  and  therefore.  King 
Edward,  you  would  do  wisely  to  persuade  her  to  yield 
him  up  with  a  good  grace,'  said  the  duke. 

'  I  have  already  told  you,  my  lord,  that  I  will  not 
attempt  to  influence  my  royal  mother's  conduct. 
Doubtless  she  hath  good  reasons,  and  prudent  advi- 
sers for  what  she  doth,'  said  the  king. 

•Then,'  said  the  duke,  'I  will  not  permit  you  to 
hold  any  intercourse  with  her,  even  by  letter.' 

'  You  have  no  right,  my  Lord  of  Glijucesler,  to  pre* 
rent  it,'  retorted  the  king,  with  a  heightened  colour. 


82  historic.il  talks. 

'  Ay,  but  I  possess  the  power,'  rejoined  the  duke,  aa 
h(!  left  the  room. 

The  bishop  of  Ely  entered  a  moment  after. 

'  Oh  !  my  dear  lord,'  cried  the  king,  throwing  him- 
self into  his  arms,  '  I  appeal  to  you  for  protection  and 
deliverance  from  the  tyrannical  usage  of  my  uncle 
Gloucester,  who  refuses  to  allow  me  to  see  or  even  to 
to  write  to  my  mother,  and  is  about  to  remove  me, 
against  my  own  consent,  from  your  hospitable  man- 
8ion  to  the  Tower.' 

'  I  grieve  to  learn  it,'  said  the  bishop,  '  the  more  so, 
because  my  unavailing  sympathy  is  all  that  1  can  ofTer 
to  your  Grace.' 

'  Oh  !  but  my  Lord,'  returned  the  king,  '  it  was  only 
yesterday  that  you  promised  to  be  my  friend,' 

'And  so  I  am,  poor  child,  and  so  I  will  be,  God 
willing,  but  at  present  I   have  no  power  to  aid  you. 

'  O  yes,  indeed  you  have  ;  you  can  assist  me  to 
escape  from  my  uncle's  custody.' 

'  And  whither  would  you  go,  supposing  that  were 
possible  ?'  asked  the  bishop. 

'  I  would  join  my  mother  in  the  sanctuary  at  W  'st- 
minster,  or  I  would  flee  to  the  trusty  Lord  Hastings 
my  Other's  friend,  and  implore  his  protection,  if  you 
would  but  permit  me  to  pass  these  gates,'  said  the 
king  eagerly. 

'  Alas !  dear  child,  you  know  not  of  what  you  are  talk 


ROYAL  BIIOTHERS  83 

Ing.  You  flee  from  thecustody  of  your  watchful  uncle  V 
You  break  the  meshes  of  the  guileful  web  in  which 
that  cruel  spider  hath  entangled  you  ?  You  pass  these 
gates  through  my  connivance,  who  am  myself  a  pris- 
oner in  my  own  palace,  and  ever  since  your  abode 
here  have  been  watched  even  more  jealously  than 
your  royal  self?  Those  of  mine  own  household  are 
spies  over  me,  and  believe  me,  young  Planlagenet,  it 
IS  at  positive  peril  of  my  life  that  I  hold  conference 
with  you  now.' 

'  Leave  me  then  to  my  unhappy  fate,'  said  the  king, 
weeping.  'I  would  not  requite  your  kindness,  my 
lord  bishop,  by  exposing  you  to  the  malice  of  one  who 
appears  bent  on  the  ruin  of  every  creature  who  is  uni- 
ted to  me,  either  by  blood  or  friendship.' 

'  Alas  !  my  royal  lord,  I  fear  it  is  even  so,'  returned 
the  bishop,  tenderly  embracing  the  king,  and  mixing 
his  tears  with  his.  '  But  comfort  thee,  my  son,  though 
.  environed  with  dangers,  thou  art  not  forsaken,  for  thy 
Heavenly  Father  is  still  present  to  protect  thee  ;  and 
if  thy  trust  be  in  His  mercy,  by  his  everlasting  arms 
shalt  thou  be  supported  and  upheld  under  every  trial 
— 'and  here,'  continued  the  good  prelate,  taking  his 
breviary  from  the  folds  of  his  gown,  and  putting  ii  in- 
to the  hand  of  the  king,  '  shalt  hou  find  that  from 
which  thou  shalt  draw  consolation  and  suoport  in  thf 
deepest  moments  of  affliction.' 


84  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

'  May  God  bless  and  reward  you  for  your  kindnoss 
to  a  friendless  orphan,  my  good  lord,'  said  ihe  king 
.reverently  placing  the  splendidly  bound  and  embroi- 
dered volume  in  his  bosom.  '  You  will  not  forget  me 
in  your  prayers,  holy  father,'  continued  he,  raising 
to  the  face  of  the  bishop  his  soft  blue  eyes,  on  whose 
long  and  shadowy  fringes  the  tear  drops  still  hung. 

'  Nor  yet  in  my  daily  thoughts,  my  liege,'  replied 
the  prelate  :  '  rely  upon  it,'  added  he,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  whisper,  and  pressing  his  hand  significantly 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  royal  youth,  '  I  shall  concert 
with  Dr.  Rotherham  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and 
with  those  powerful  peers  the  Lord  Hastings  and 
Stanley,  for  the  appointment  of  a  proper  council  of 
regency,  to  act  in  some  measure  as  a  check  upon  the 
despotic  proceedings  of  your  uncle.' 

'  And  you  will  tell  the  queen  my  mother,  that  you 
have  seen  me,  and  deliver  my  greetings  to  her  grace,' 
said  the  king  eagerly. 

'  Fear  not,'  replied  the  bishop,  and  left  him. 

That  evening  the  king  was  with  great  pomp  con- 
ducted, by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  to  the  royal  apart- 
ments in  the  Tower. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  encouragemer  t  he    had   re 
ceived  from  the  worthy  prelate,  it  was  with  a  heavy 
heart  that  King  Edward   left  the    pleasant   episcopal 
palace  for  a  dreaded    abode    in    that    dreary    fortress 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  85 

where  so  many  deeds  of  darkness  had  beeiv  per- 
petrated. 

A  general  chill  came  over  him  as  its  gloomy  porlalp 
expanded  to  receive  him,  and,  grasping  his  uncle's 
arm  in  the  strong  revulsion  which  he  felt  against 
crossing  that  fatal  threshold,  he  exclaimed,  '  0  !  un- 
cle, do  not  compel  me  to  enter  this  ill-omened  place.' 

'  Does  this  childish  terror  become  a  king  and  a 
Plantagenet  ?'  asked  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  con- 
temptuously, '  Of  what,  let  me  ask  you,  are  you 
afraid  ?' 

'  I  am  not  afraid,  my  Lord  Duke,*  replied  the 
young  king,  colouring  indignantly,  '  but,  if  the  truth 
must  be  spoken,  I  will  acknowledge  to  you,  that  I 
cannot  overcome  the  reluctance  I  feel  to  take  up  my 
abode  in  a  place  that  has  so  recently  been  polluted 
with  the  foul  murder  of  my  uncle  Clarence.' 

'  God  certainly  has  threatened  to  visit  the  sins  of 
the  father  upon  the  children,'  retorted  the  Duke,  be- 
coming very  pale  ;  '  and  as  my  unfortunate  brother 
Clarence  was  done  to  death  by  your  father  King  Ed- 
ward's order,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  you  should  feel 
uneasy  on  that  account.' 

•  Ah  !  uncle,  uncle  !'  said  the  king,  '  report  wrongs 
you  much  if  yo^c  were  not  the  man  who  moved  my 
Calher  to  yield  a  reluoiant  cons*»nt  to  that  fearfuJ 
8 


86  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

deei ;  which    I  pray    may   never  be   vioited  on  the 
heads  of  his  innocent  offspring.* 

The  brow  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  became  black 
as  midnight  as  he  muttered,  '  And  am  I  to  be  twitted 
by  my  brother  Edward's  brats  with  crimes  of  his  com- 
mitting ?  I  suppose  I  shall  hear  next  that  it  was  I 
who  stabbed  Henry  of  Lancaster,  as  he  happened  to 
die  in  this  place  !' 

'  And  did  you  not  ?'  asked  the  young  king  with 
great  simplicity. 

'  O,  I  have  been  misrepresented  to  your  kingship 
in  brave  colours,  I  find,'  exclaimed  the  Duke  angrily, 
'  thanks  to  the  queen  your  mother,  and  your  late 
governor  and  counsellors,  my  lords  Eivers  and  Grey, 
but  they  will  soon  pay  the  penalty  of  their  crimes, 
which  your  perversity  will  have  the  effect  of  hastening.' 

'  Oh,  say  not  so,  my  lord  !'  exclaimed  the  king  in 
agony  ;  '  only  spare  my  uncle  Rivers  and  my  brother 
Grey,  and  I  will  go  where  you  will,  and  become  obe- 
dient to  all  your  wishes.' 

'  Compose  yourself  then,  and  enter  your  royal 
apartments  here  with  the  calm  dignity  that  becomes  a 
king,  and  I  shall  take  the  case  of  the  prisoners  at 
Pontefract  into  consideration,'  said  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  '  and  if  it  be  possible  to  show  any  lenity 
to  such  vile  trai'.ors,  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so,  since 
they  are  so  dear  to  you.' 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  87 

These  words,  however  fair,  were  too  ambiguous  to 
inspire  the  sad  heart  of  his  royal  nephew  with  much 
hope  for  his  unfortunate  relatives ;  and  his  dejection 
of  spirit  was  increased  by  the  profound  solitude  and 
gloomy  magnificence  of  the  spacious  suite  of  apart- 
ments, into  which  he  was  introduced  with  great  cere- 
mony by  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury,  the  lieutenant  of 
the  Tower,  who  respectfully  inquired  '  if  his  Grace 
required  any  other  conveniences  ?  ' 

'  I  should  be  glad  of  writing  materials  and  books, 
wherewith  to  recreate  my  solitary  hours,'  replied  the 
king,  looking  round  him  with  a  melancholy  air. 

'  The  first  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  supply  your  Grace 
with,'  replied  Brackenbury ;  '  respecting  the  last  1 
have  received  no  prohibition  from  the  Duke  of  Glou- 
cester; and  your  Grace  will  find  a  goodly  store  of 
learned  books  and  rare  MSS.  in  a  closet  through 
your  sleeping  apartment,  which  is  well  adapted  for 
the  purposes  of  study  and  meditation,  if  your  Grace 
delight  in  such  occupations :  these  things  were 
brought  hither  for  the  divertisement  of  the  lonely 
hours  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth,  and  have  not  been 
removed  since.' 

•  And  was  he  the  last  tenant  of  these  apartments?  ' 
d'jmanded  Edward  with  a  sigh. 

*  The  last,  please  your  royal  Grace,  and  albeit  1 
should  not  speak  his  praises  to  your  royal  Grace,  see- 


88  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

ing  he  was  accounted  by  your  royal  father  as  a  foe— 
and,  woe  worth  the  day  !  dealt  with  as  such  in  the 
end ;  yet  he  was  the  meekest,  the  kindest,  and  the 
most  heavenly-minded  prince  I  ever  had  the  honor  of 
serving.  One,  my  gracious  Lord,  of  whom  the  world 
was  not  worthy — but  I  am  too  bold  in  discoursing 
thus  to  your  Grace  of  the  rival  House  of  Lancaster.' 

'  Not  so,'  replied  the  king  ;  '  I  love  to  hear  of  Holy 
King  Henry,  and  shall  feel  as  if  these  gloomy  apart- 
ments had  been  sanctified  by  his  use  ; — but  what  are 
yonder  dark  stains  upon  the  wainscot  and  the  floor  of 
this  chamber,  Brackenbury  ?  ' 

'  Do  not  ask  me  !  '  said  Brackenbury,  becoming 
very  pale  ;  '  every  prison-house  hath  its  secrets,  which 
may  not  be  revealed  by  its  keeper.'  So  saying,  he 
withdrew. 

The  young  king  remained  for  a  while  immovable, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fatal  spot  where  he  felt  as- 
sured that  blood — royal  blood — had  been  spilt  ;  and 
when  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Tower  entered  to  in- 
quire whether  it  pleased  him  to  have  supper  served 
lip,  he  pointed  to  the  stain,  and  asked  him  what  it 
was. 

'  The  blood  of  Henry  of  Lancaster ! '  replied  the 
man  bluntly.     '  Will  it  like  your  Grace  to  sup  ? ' 

'No,'  replied  the  king,  shuddering;  '  I  cannot  ea* 
o-night :'  and  the  officar  withdrew. 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  89 

With  tne  conviction  that  he  was  a  prisoner,  cams 
dso  to  Edward's  mind  the  suspicion  that  he  was 
brought  hither  as  a  victim,  to  be  immolated  at  the 
jhrine  of  his  uncle's  overweening  ambition  ;  and  as 
he  from  time  to  time  glanced  upon  the  indelible  wit- 
ness of  the  murder  that  had  been  perpetrated  by  the 
remorseless  hand  of  Gloucester  in  that  very  chamber, 
he  felt  all  the  horrors  of  his  situation,  and  with  trem- 
bling minuteness  examined  if  any  lurking  murderer 
were  concealed  behind  the  tapestry  hangings,  or  be- 
neath the  rich  black  velvet  draperies  of  the  plumed 
and  canopied  bed  of  state,  whose  heavy  hearse-like 
form  and  sable  hue  appeared  as  if  purposely  contrived 
to  increase  the  gloom  of  the  chamber.  Then  reflec- 
ting that  however  encompassed  he  might  be  with  dan- 
gers, he  had  done  nothing  to  forfeit  the  protection  oi 
his  Heavenly  Father,  he  drew  the  breviary  of  the 
worthy  bishop  from  his  bosom,  and  kneeling  down, 
composed  his  agitated  mind  to  prayer  and  devout  med- 
itation, and  after  spending  nearly  an  hour  in  this  em- 
ployment, he  sought  his  lonely  pillow,  and  tasted  that 
peaceful  repose  which  innnocence  can  enjoy  even 
within  the  dreary  walls  of  a  prison  and  a  slaughter- 
house. 

The  next  day,  a  council  was  held  in  the  star  cham- 
ber, in  which  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  master  projeci 


90  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

of  getting  the  young  Duke  of  York  into  his  own  pos 
Bes?ion,  by  either  prevailing  upon  the  queen  his  moth- 
er to  resign  him,  or  in  case  of  her  continuing  obsti- 
nate in  her  refusal  to  give  him  up,  to  take  him  from 
her  perforce,  was  fiercely  debated.  The  Duke  oi 
Gloucester  in  a  long  and  elaborate  speech,  set  forth 
the  ill  effects  that  would  in  all  probability  result  to  the 
nation  at  large,  but  more  especially  to  the  young  king 
and  his  regency,  from  the  queen's  needless  precipita- 
tion, in  taking  sanctuary  with  the  royal  children,  and 
her  perversity  in  coniinuing  there,  and  detaining  the 
young  prince  from  the  king  his  brother,  who  was  so 
desirous  of  his  company.  In  short,  he  said  it  would 
be  the  most  impolitic  thing  in  the  world  for  the  gov- 
ernment to  be  tamely  set  at  defiance  by  a  weak  worn 
an,  and  concluded  with  recommending  the  young 
Duke  of  York  to  be  taken  from  the  sanctuary  by  force, 
if  the  queen  refused  to  yield  him  to  the  demands  of 
the  council. 

The  Bishop  of  Ely  and  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  replied  at  great  length  to  this  speech,  in- 
sisting on  the  privileges  of  sanctuaries,  which  even 
the  worst  of  tyrants  had  scrupled  to  violate  ;  but  the 
cardinal,  tvho  was  a  weak  man,  in  the  sequel  consen 
ted  to  go  to  the  queen  and  demand  the  young  prince 
of  \ier  in  the  name  of  the  council,  and  endeavor  to 


ROYAL    BROTHERS. 


91 


prevail  upon  her  to  avert  the  violence  which  was 
threatened  by  giving  up  the  child  peaceably. 

Accompanied  by  several  lords  and  members  of  the 
council,  the  cardinal  archbishop  entered  the  sanctuary, 
where  he  found  the  unfortunate  queen  attired  in  the 
deepest  weeds  of  widowhood,  and  looking  the  image 
of  woe,  sealed  on  the  rushes  which  had  been  strown 
on  the  cold  stones  for  the  accommodation  of  herself 
and  her  helpless  family,  by  whom  she  was  surround- 
ed, and  who  by  their  afTectionate  endearments  were 
endeavoring  to  soothe  the  passionate  sorrow  of  their 
afflicted  mother. 

The  lovely  countenances  of  the  two  elder  princes- 
ses, Elizabeth  and  Cicely,  were  expressive  of  the 
most  touching  melancholy.  Grief  for  the  recent  death 
of  their  royal  father,  the  distress  in  which  they  saw 
their  mother  involved,  and  uncertainty  as  to  the  fate  ot 
their  uncle  Rivers  and  their  maternal  brother,  mingled 
with  some  apprehensions  respecting  the  safety  of  the 
young  king,  together  with  undefined  fears  on  their 
own  accounts,  had  evidently  had  the  effect  of  casting 
a  temporary  shade  over  their  opening  bloom  of  early 
womanhood.  The  vivacity  and  gay  spirits  of  the 
young  Duke  of  York  and  his  little  sisters,  though 
they  did  not  fully  comprehend  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
tress they  witnessed,  had  been  greatly  subdued  by 
confinement   in  this  dreary  abode,  and  the  grief  of 


92  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

their  mother  and  the  elder  princesses.  They  did  noi 
weep  with  them  it  is  true,  but  they  had  a  mournful 
and  dejected  air  very  unusual  in  children  of  their  ten- 
der age,  and  they  appeared  to  shrink  with  alarm  and 
aversion  from  the  slightest  proximity  to  the  rude  and 
ruffian  crew  whose  crimes  had  compelled  them  to  take 
refuge  in  the  sanctuary. 

The  deep  mourning,  the  infant  innocence  and  un- 
afTected  sorrow,  together  with  the  distinguished  beau- 
ty of  the  royal  children,  rendered  them  a  group  of 
such  touching  interest,  that  neither  the  cardinal,  nor 
the  noblemen  who  attended  him  on  his  mission,  could 
behold  them  without  emotion. 

At  the  approach  of  strangers,  the  younger  children 
clung  to  their  mother  in  alarm,  but  the  eyes  of  the  el- 
der princesses  and  the  young  Duke  of  York  became 
animated  with  hope  and  expectation.  The  queen's 
countenance  wore  a  doubtful  expression,  on  the  first 
address  of  the  cardinal,  which  was  couched  in  very 
soothing  and  respectful  language  ;  but  when  he  went 
on  to  explain  the  full  meaning  of  his  errand,  she  in- 
terrupted him  with  great  warmth,  to  enlarge  on  the 
sacredness  of  the  privilege  of  sanctuaries,  and  to  as- 
sure him  she  would  rather  die  than  part  with  her 
children. 

'  But  your  Grace  is  not  required  to  part  with  any 
out  the  Duke  of  York,'  said  the  cardinal ;   '  and  sure- 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  93 

Ij  yoti  would  not  wish  to  withhold  him  from  the  arms 
of  the  king  his  brother,  who  is  so  desirous  of  his  com- 
pany that  he  pines  for  him  incessantly.' 

'  Then  let  him  come  hither,  and  he  shall  beholo 
him,'  said  the  queen. 

'  The  king's  guardians  and  council  do  not  consider 
it  proper  to  introduce  his  royal  Grace  into  the  conta- 
gion of  such  a  scene  as  this,'  replied  the  cardinal, 
glancing  significantly  at  the  rabble  rout,  who,  with 
ill-mannered  curiosity  had  drawn  as  near  as  their  lim- 
its would  allow  to  the  royal  group.  '  Believe  me,' 
continued  he,  '  your  Grace  is  much  to  blame  to  bring 
your  royal  daughters  and  this  tender  prince  into  a 
place  so  manifestly  improper  for  them.' 

The  princesses  Elizabeth  and  Cicely  looked  much 
distressed  ;  but  the  queen  replied,  by  pouring  forth  a 
torrent  of  passionate  invectives  against  the  oppression 
and  cruelty  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  to  herself  and 
all  her  family,  which  had  compelled  her  to  seek  a 
refuge  for  herself  and  her  royal  children  among  mur 
derers,  robbers,  and  outlaws  of  every  denomination, 
in  whose  neighborhood,'  she  concluded  by  saying, 
she  knew  she  could  more  safely  trust  them,  than  in 
the  keeping  of  their  ambitious  uncle.' 

'  Nay,  Madam,  unless  you  will  talk  more  reasona- 
bly,' said  the  cardinal,  '  I  fear  we  must  leave  you  to 
the  decision  of  the  council,  which  is,  that  unless  vou 


94  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

think  proper  to  render  up  the  young  Duke  of  York 
to  their  requisition,  they  have  resolved  to  take  him 
from  you  perforce.' 

'  Ay,  but  they  dare  not  violate  the  privilege  of  sanc- 
tuary to  do  that,'  retorted  the  queen. 

'  Your  Grace's  prudent  compliance  with  the  wish  of 
'.he  nation,  and  the  earnest  desire  of  your  royal  som 
shall  spare  the  necessity  of  such  a  deed,  I  trust,'  re- 
plied the  cardinal.  '  How  say  you,  my  little  lord,' 
said  he,  addressing  the  Duke  of  York  ;  '  would  you 
not  like  to  leave  this  dismal  place,  and  go  with  me  to 
the  king  your  brother  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  indeed  I  should  ! '  replied  the  young  prince, 
'  and  I  do  not  like  being  here  at  all ;  for  though  it  is 
the  merry  month  of  May,  I  can  neither  see  the  flow- 
ers nor  the  pleasant  green  fields,  nor  hear  the  song  of 
the  pretty  birds.' 

'  But  if  you  will  go  with  me,  my  Lord,'  said  the 
cardinal,  '  you  shall  pass  your  time  in  pleasant  sports 
in  the  palace  gardens,  the  live-long  day,  with  King 
Edward  your  brother,  and  the  young  lords  of  his 
court ;  and  you  shall  ride  forth  with  him  on  a  prince- 
ly steed,  to  hunt  the  deer  with  him  through  his  royal 
parks  and  pleasaunces,  with  cheerly  sounds  of  hounds 
and  horns.' 

'  Oh    mother,  mother  ' '  cried  the  boy,  clinging  to 


ROVAL     BROTHERS.  95 

the  queen's  arm,  *  let  me  go  with  these  ncble  lords  to 
the  king  my  gentle  brother.' 

'  And  would  you  leave  your  tender  mother,  ungrate- 
ful child  ?  '  said  the  queen. 

'  Dear  mother,  I  am  weary  of  this  dismal  place,  and 
I  would  fain  go  forth  to  see  the  pleasant  fields  and 
green  woods,  and  take  my  pastime  in  the  gardens 
once  more.' 

'  Ah,  Richard,  Richard,  heed  not  the  deceitful 
words  of  those  who  would  fain  win  thee  from  my 
sheltering  arms  to  work  thy  woe,  my  simple  child  ! ' 
said  the  queen,  drawing  him  closer  to  her. 

'  Fie,  madam,  what  strange  perversity  is  this,  to 
put  such  cruel  constraint  on  the  natural  inclination  of 
this  fair  young  prince,  whose  brotherly  affection  doth 
so  powerfully  impel  him  to  obey  the  mandate  of  the 
king,'  said  the  cardinal.  '  Why  should  you  wish  to 
keep  those  apart  whom  nature  hath  so  fondly  united 
in  the  sweet  bonds  of  fraternal  love  ?  ' 

'  God  knoweth,  my  Lord,'  said  the  queen,  '  that  our 
separation  from  my  royal  Edward  is  my  greatest 
grief,  but  how  shall  I,  who  have  had  such  bitter 
proofs  of  the  enmity  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  to 
me  and  mine,  venture  to  trust  both  these  my  precious 
ones  in  the  clutches  of  that  ravenous  wolf,  who  is 
panting  to  destroy  them  ? ' 

'  Hush,  royal  lady,  we  must  not  hear  you  speak 


96 


HISTORICAL  TALES. 


thus  unadvisedly  of  that  noble  prince  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  who  in  sooth  appears  most  lovingly  dis- 
posed to  his  royal  nephews,'  said  the  cardinal. 

*  It  may  be  so,'  replied  the  queen  with  a  sigh,  'but 
he  cannot  expect  the  mother  of  the  Lord  Eichard 
Grey  to  trust  another  of  her  sons  in  his  keeping 
while  she  can  withhold  him.' 

'  But  the  fair  young  prince  is  himself  desirous  of  go- 
ing ;  are  you  not,  my  lord  of  York  V  said  the  cardinal 

'  Ay,  marry',  my  lord,  am  I,'  replied  the  young 
duke  sturdily,  '  and  I  will  go  in  faith,  if  you  can  per- 
suade the  queen  my  mother  to  part  with  me.' 

'  Her  Grace  will  be  wise  to  consent  at  once,  since 
her  refusal  will  avail  nothing,  as  matters  stand,'  said 
the  cardinal ;  '  and  I  will  be  surety  that  no  harm 
shall  befall  to  this  sweet  child.' 

'  Ah  York,  my  pretty  York  I  and  must  I  then  part 
with  thee,  my  precious  child  ?' exclaimed  the  queen, 
snatching  the  young  prince  to  her  bosom  in  a  trans- 
port of  maternal  grief  and  tenderness  ;  and,  bursting 
into  a  passion  of  tears,  she  delivered  him  to  the  car- 
dinal, with  a  solemn  charge  to  be  watchful  over  him, 
and  telling  him  that  if  any  harm  befel  him,  she  should 
require  him  at  his  hands. 

'  Richard,  sweet  brother  Richard,  will  you  leave 
js?'  exclaimed  his  sisters,  weeping  and  hanging 
'ound  him. 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  97 

Fail  sisters,  1  will  bring  our  royal  brother,  King 
Edward,  with  all  his  valiant  knights  and  nobles,  to 
take  you  and  the  queen  our  mother  from  this  ugly 
place,'  responded  the  young  prince,  breaking  from 
their  sorrowful  embraces. 

'  Nay,  tarry,  tarry,  gentle  brother,  for  we  cannot 
part  with  you  thus,'  cried  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  his  el- 
dest sister,  fondly  detaining  him. 

'  Oh,  but,  sweet  sister  mine,  I  am  so  longing  to  be 
forth  of  these  imprisoning  walls,  that  I  cannot  stay 
with  you,'  cried  the  impatient  boy. 

'  Ah,  pretty  York  !  you  know  not  whither  you  are 
hastening,  or  what  dark  destiny  you  may  be  leaving  us 
to  fulfil ,'  said  the  princess,  folding  him  in  a  parting 
embrace. 

'  Farewell,  farewell,  my  precious  child  !  '  exclaimed 
his  weeping  mother;  '  may  good  angels  be  thy  speed, 
and  guard  thee  from  every  adversity  that  may  threat- 
en thee.' 

The  younger  children  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
wept  aloud,  when  they,  though  happily  unconscious 
of  his  peril,  saw  their  beloved  brother  depart  with  the 
cardinal  and  the  other  lords  and  gentlemen,  who  had 
been  deputed  by  the  council  to  fetch  him.  As  for  the 
queen,  ere  the  doors  of  the  church  had  fully  shut  the 
boy  from  her  fond  eyes,  her  heart  misgave  her  that 


98  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

she  had  done  wrong  in  resigning  him,  and  she  flung 
herself  upon  the  pavement  with  such  a  passionate 
burst  of  grief,  that  the  hearts  of  the  most  obdurate  of 
the  hardened  ruffians  in  the  precincts  of  sanctuary 
were  melted  at  the  sight  of  her  distress,  which  her 
sorrowful  daughters  vainly  strove  to  soothe  by  their 
tender  caresses. 

Prince  Richard,  meantime,  with  all  the  thoughtless 
vivacity  of  childhood,  skipping  gaily  by  the  cardinal's 
side,  entered  the  star-chamber,  where  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  with  the  other  members  of  the  council, 
were  waiting  the  return  of  the  embassage  to  the 
queen,  and  beginning  to  marvel  at  their  long  delay 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  admiration  in  the 
council  room  at  the  sprightly  beauty  «^nd  bold  bearing 
of  the  princely  child,  who  had  only  just  entered  his 
ninth  year;  and  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  rising  from 
his  seat,  eagerly  advanced  to  meet  him,  and  taking 
him  up  in  his  arms  several  times,  exclaiming,  '  Now 
welcome,  my  dear  lord,  with  all  my  heart !  ' 

'  Where  is  my  brother.  King  Edward  ?  '  cried  the 
young  duke,  struggling  to  escap%  from  his  urn  .e's 
arms. 

*  Have  patience  a  moment,  fair  nephew,  and  I  will 
conduct  you  to  your  royal  brother,  who  will  be  dearly 
glad  to  see  you,'  said  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  with 
a  smile. 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  99 

'  Oh  !  but  I  want  to  see  him  now,'  rejoined  the 
prince  impatiently :  '  I  thought  I  should  have  seen 
him  on  his  throne  there,  which  you  have  no  right  to 
be  seated  upon,  uncle  Gloucester.' 

That  is  not  a   throne,  you  simple  child,'  returned 
the  duke  ;  '  it  is  only  a  chair  of  state.' 

'  And  pray,  good  uncle,  what  is  a  throne,  if  it  be 
not  a  chair  of  state  ?  '  retorted  the  prince. 

'  Go  to  !  go  to,  Prince  Richard,  you  are  too  sharp 
for  me,'  replied  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  affecting  to 
join  in  the  general  laugh  ;  '  but  we  shall  have  no 
business  done  in  council  to-day,  if  we  attend  to  your 
prating,  so  I  suppose  I  must  take  you  to  pay  your  du- 
ty to  King  Edward  your  brother.' 

The  young  king  was  in  a  melancholy  mood,  en- 
deavoring to  divert  his  sad  thoughts  among  the  pre- 
cious relics  of  the  learning  of  past  ages  with  which 
he  was  surrounded,  when  the  door  was  softly  un- 
closed, and  his  little  brother  bounded  into  his  arms 
and  overwhelmed  him  with  caresses. 

Edward,  who  though  he  knew  not  how  to  account 
for  his  appearance,  was  delighted  to  see  him,  returned 
nis  endearments  with  interest,  and  clasping  him  to  his 
bosom,  laughed  and  wept  alternately  in  the  fulness  of 
h's  heart. 

'  But  how  came  you  hither,  my  sweet  brother 
y';rk?'  exclaimed  he,  when  the  first  transport  of  his 


e 


100  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

surprise    and  pleasure    would    give    hiM    leave    to 
speak. 

'  My  ancle  Gloucester  brought  me  hither,  dearest 
Edward,  and  be  careful  what  you  say  of  him,'  said 
the  young  prince  archly,  '  for  he  is  at  the  door  listen- 
ing to  our  conference,  in  hopes  of  hearing  some  ill  of 
himself  I  suppose,  knowing  I  love  him  not,  and  belike 
suspecting  that  he  is  not  very  dear  unto  your  Grace.' 

'  Fie,  Richard,  you  will  make  me  chide  you  it  you 
talk  so  inconsiderately,'  said  the  king,  tenderly  em- 
bracing his  thoughtless  brother. 

'  How    likes    your    Grace    the    companion    I    hav 
brought  you  ? '  said  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  fully  un- 
closing the  door  which  stood  ajar,  and  advancing. 

'  It  would  have  been  a  difficult  matter  to  provide 
me  with  one  more  dear,  my  lord,'  replied  the  king, 
raising  his  eyes  to  his  uncle's  face  with  one  of  those 
sunny  smiles  which  had  long  been  strangers  to  his 
noble  features. 

'  Then  see  you  use  him  lovingly,'  rejoined  the 
duke,  and  left  the  royal  brothers  to  themselves. 

The  young  king  then  requested  his  brother  to  give 
a  particular  account  of  all  that  had  befallen  himself> 
the  queen  their  mother,  and  the  princesses,  since  the 
death  of  the  late  king  their  father. 

'  I  shall  never  forget  what  a  sorrowful  time  .t  was,' 
Baid  the  little  prince,  '  when  the  shrieks  of  my  mother 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  101 

and  sisters,  and  the  lamentations  of  their  '.vomen,  first 
told  r.ie  the  sad  tidings  of  my  father's  death.' 

'  Alas  !'  observed  the  young  king,  '  how  diflferently 
was  that  sorrowful  event  revealed  to  me  by  smiling 
relatives  and  flattering  courtiers,  who  crowded  round 
me  in  eager  rivalry  which  should  be  the  first  to  tell 
me  I  was  a  king.  But  I  interrupt  you  in  your  sad 
relation,  my  sweet  brother.' 

'  The  next  thing  I  remember,  dear  Edward,'  con- 
tinued the  prince,  '  was  being  roused  from  my  peace- 
ful slumbers  at  midnight  by  a  confused  sound  of  sor- 
rowful voices,  and  busy  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the 
palace  ;  and  while  I  was  yet  casting  about  in  my 
mind  what  this  should  mean,  much  fearing  that  somt 
new  calamity  had  befallen  us,  my  weeping  nurse  camt 
to  my  bedside,  and  bade  me  rise  in  haste  to  accompa- 
ny the  queen  my  mother  and  my  sisters  into  sanctu- 
ary. Sleepy  and  frightened  as  I  was,  dear  Edward, 
I  grew  wayward,  and  told  the  nurse  1  would  not  leave 
my  bed  to  go  abroad  into  the  dark  ugly  night,  for  it 
blew  a  heavy  gale,  the  rain  and  hail  pattered  against 
the  windows,  and  I  heard  the  sullen  roaring  of  the 
river,  so  I  crept  under  the  bed-clothes,  and  bade  nurse 
begone ;  but  the  next  moment  my  dear  mother  enter- 
ed, with  pale  cheeks  and  streaming  eyes,  and,  snatch- 
mg  me  up  in  her  arms,  cried  in  a  piercing  voice  of 
distress, 


T.IBUARY 

UNlVERSnV  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAiN  TA  BARBARA 


102  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

•  Richard  !  my  darling,  my  precious  boy  !  you  must 
atvay  with  me,  for  your  cruel  uncle  Gloucester  hatU 
arrested,  and  I  fear  me  slain  your  valiant  uncle  Riv- 
ers, and  your  brother  Richard  Grey,  and  seized  the 
person  of  the  young  king  your  brother  at  Nonhamp- 
ton ;  and  next  he  will  seek  our  lives,  my  sweet  child, 
therefore  must  we  to  the  sanctuary  at  Westminster 
with  what  speed  we  may  !  ' 

'  She  then  wrapped  me  hastily  in  her  mantle,  and 
bore  me  in  her  own  arms,  in  all  my  night-clothes  as 
I  was,  across  the  palace  yard,  attended  by  my  brother 
Dorset,  and  followed  by  my  weeping  sisters,  Eliza- 
beth, Cicely,  and  Anne,  and  the  nurses  carrying  the 
sleeping  Catherine  and  Bridget ;  and  when  we  came 
to  a  postern  door  in  the  Abbey,  my  brother  Dorset 
knocked  there  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  prayed 
the  porter  for  admittance  into  the  sanctuary  for  a  sor- 
rowful widow  and  her  orphan  babes,  who  were  en- 
forced to  flee  from  a  wicked  prince,  who  sought  to  kill 
them  for  the  sake  of  their  inheritance.  So,  after  con- 
sulting with  the  good  dean,  we  were  permitted  to  en- 
ter; and  some  of  our  faithful  servants  brought  beds 
and  other  conveniences  from  the  palace  for  our  use, 
and  we  have  abode  in  the  sanctuary  ever  since.  Now, 
Edward,  a  sanctuary  is  a  very  dismal  place ' 

*Know  you  not,  my  fair  brother,  that  I  was  born  in 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  103 

that  same  sanctuary  during  the  tioublous  wars  of  the 
roses,'  said  the  king. 

'  Yes,  Edward,  my  mother  said  that  you  were  born 
at  a  heavy  time  for  our  parents ;  and  often  she  has 
told  us  of  her  affliction  during  the  perilous  rebellion 
of  Warwick  the  king  maker,  who  took  our  royal  fa- 
ther prisoner,  which  enforced  her  to  flee  from  this 
Tower  of  London  (where  she  then  kept  court),  )y 
water  to  Westminster,  where  she  took  sanctuary,  and 
was  delivered  of  you  in  the  Jerusalem  chamber.  We 
had  no  such  comfortable  lodgings,  I  trow,  during  our 
sad  sojourn  in  the  Abbey.' 

'  But  how  came  you  forth  of  the  sanctuary,  my 
fcweet  brother  ? '  asked  the  king. 

'  Forsooth,  because  the  lords  o''  the  council  sent  the 
Cardinal  Archbishop  to  fetch  me  forth.' 

'  Did  they  violate  the  privilege  of  sanctuary,  and 
take  you  thence  perforce  1  '  asked  the  king. 

'  No ;  for  the  queen  my  mother  yielded  to  my  en- 
treaties, and  let  me  go.' 

*  Yielded  to  your  entreaties  !'  echoed  the  king,  '  and 
did  you  wish  to  leave  her,  Richard  ? ' 

The  young  prince  looked  down,  blushed,  and  after 
a  moment's  reflection  said  :  '  I  thought  it  was  my  du- 
ty to  obey  your  royal  mandate,  Edward,  and  therefore 
I  came  unto  you  when  I  heard  it  was  your  desire  to 
see  .'Tie,  and  have  me  with  you' 


1U4  HISTORICAL    TALFS. 

'  Ah  Richard  !  you  have  been  deceived,'  roplied  the 
king  sorrowfully.     '  I  sent  not  for  you  ;  and,  however 
dearly  I  desired  your  company,  I  knew  too  well  how 
deeply  being  deprived  of  you  would  add  to  our  royal 
mother's  afllictions   to  require  it,  and  moreover,  Rich- 
ard, I  will   not  conceal  from  you   my  sad  suspicion 
that  I  stand  in  peril  of  my  life  from  the  dark  devices 
of  one  who  aspires   not  only   to  govern  in  my  name, 
but  actually  to   wear  my  crown  ;  but  while  you  were 
safe  with  the   queen   in  the  sanctuary,  which  bold  as 
he  is  he  dared  not  violate,  his  taking  my  life  would 
have  availed   him   little,   since  you  would  have  suc- 
ceeded to  my  lawful  title,  and  the  people,  being  roused 
to  indignation  by  so  foul  a  deed  as  shedding  the  blood 
of  an  orphan   nephew  and   his  king,  he  knew  would 
espouse   your  cause.     Thus  you  see,  dear  Richard, 
your  safety  was   my  security  ;  but  now  he  has  ?!uc- 
ceeded  in  getting  you  into  his  power  also,  it  wil'  be 
easy  for  him  to  cut  us  both  off  at  one  blow.' 

'  But,  my  royal  brother,  as  you  are  a  king,  why  do 
not  you  attaint  that  false  traitor,  and  order  his  head  to 
be  struck  off  on  Tower  Hill  hard  by,  and  then  cause 
it  to  be  set  up  on  a  spear  over  Ludgate,  or  on  the 
Bridge  ?  '  exclaimed  Prince  Richard  fiercely. 

'  Gramercy,  little  York  !  you  are  for  summary  pro- 
ceedings, I  find.  Go  to,  I  love  not  to  see  you  so 
D'.oodily  disposed  against  your  enemies,'  said  the  king 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  105 

'  I  liuve  heard  my  royal  father  say  that  the  lex  tali- 
onis  was  the  fashion  of  our  house.  So,  Edward,  I 
can  quote  lali.i  for  what  I  say,'  replied  the  young 
duke. 

'  The  law  of  retaliation  is  not  the  divine  law  o! 
God,  by  which  we  are  commanded  to  love  our  ene- 
mies,' said  the  king. 

'  I  never  could  love  any  one  that  did  me  wrong, 
observed  Prince  Richard. 

'  Then  your  heart  is  not  with  God,  my  brother,  or 
you  would  endeavor  to  obey  his  precepts,'  said  the 
king.  '  But,  with  regard  to  that  which  you  were  so 
earnest  with  me  to  do,  even  if  I  had  the  w^ish  to  punish 
my  ambitious  uncle  for  his  evil  deeds,  I  have  not  the 
power.' 

'  Nay,  Edward,  you  are  mocking  me  now !  why  do 
not  you  call  upon  your  trusty  peers,  and  valiant 
knights,  to  perform  your  royal  bests  ?  '  said  Prince 
Richard. 

*  I  fear  they  would  mock  me  if  I  did,'  returned  the 
youthful  monarch  with  a  sigh;  '  for,  Richard,  lam 
friendless  and  alone.' 

'  Friendless  and  alone  ! '  echoed  the  young  prmce 
•n  surprise  :  '  where  is  your  royal  court  ? ' 

My  uncle  says  it  is  here,'  returned  the  king. 

'  Here  '. '  rejoined  the  Duke  of  York,  looking  round 


106  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

in  some  alarm ;  *  why  this  looks  more  like  a  prison 
than  a  royal  king's  abode  ! ' 

'  May  it  not  be  both,  my  simple  brother  ? '  asked 
the  king  with  a  melancholy  smile. 

'  But  where  are  your  brave  guards,  and  faithful  fol- 
lowers, my  liege  ?  '  asked  the  prince. 

'  Here,'  returned  the  young  king. 

'  I  do  not  see  any  body,'  rejoined  the  prince,  look- 
ing about  in  some  perplexity. 

'  Fido,  come  forth!'  said  the  king;  and  a  little 
spaniel,  which  had  followed  him  to  the  Tower,  and 
been  the  sole  companion  of  his  solitary  hours  since 
his  lesidence  in  that  fortress,  crept  from  beneath  his 
chair,  and  putting  his  paws  on  his  royal  master's  knee, 
looked  wistfully  in  his  face. 

•  There,  Richard,'  continued  the  royal  youth,  turn- 
ing his  moist  eyes  upon  his  little  brother,  '  you  now 
behold  my  kingly  state  and  royal  retinue !  Were  not 
you  better  off  in  the  sanctuary  at  Westminster,  with 
your  mother  and  sisters,  dear  boy  ?  ' 

The  young  prince  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

'  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you  to  return  thither,' 
said  the  king  thoughtfully;  'but  the  imprudence  of 
our  dear  mother,  in  yic  Iding  you  up,  is  I  fear  irreme- 
diable.' 

Ah,  Edwarl !  it  was  all  along  of  my  impalieot  de« 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  107 

Eire  to  be  forth  of  the  gloomy  sanctuary,  sobbed  the 
prince ;  — 

'  Which  hath,  I  fear,  been  the  means  of  bringing 
you  into  harsher  restraints,  and  a  more  perilous  pris- 
on house ;  where,  I  doubt,  your  innocent  life  will  be 
in  hourly  jeopardy,  poor  child ! '  said  the  king,  pres- 
sing him  to  his  bosom,  and  tenderly  kissing  away  his 
tears. 

•  And  do  not  any  of  your  loyal  lieges  come  hither 
to  offer  homage  to  your  Grace  ? '  asked  Prince  Rich- 
ard, after  his  first  burst  of  sorrow  had  subsided. 

'  None,  Richard,  none  !  '  replied  the  king.  '  I  have 
no  loyal  lieges,  I  suppose.' 

'  But  may  you  not  ride  forth  to  hunt  the  stag  in 
your  royal  parks  and  pleasaunces  ?  '  demanded  the 
prince. 

The  king  shook  his  head.  *  Can  you  not  see, 
Richard,  that  I  am  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  pris- 
oner, and  that  you  are  brought  hither  to  share  my  cap- 
tivity— perchance  my  untimely  death  ? ' 

'  Oh,  that  false  cardinal  !  to  beguile  me  from  my 
lovins:  mother  with  such  arrant  deceit !  '  cried  the 
young  duke.  '  Doth  he  not  deserve  to  die  the  death 
of  a  traitor,  without  benefit  of  clergy,  brother  Edward? ' 

'  Belike,  poor  man,  he  was  himself  deceived  by  the 
fair  speech  but  foul  devices  of  my  guileful  uncle  GloU' 
cester,'  s;  id  the  king ;  '  and  therefore,  my  brother,  let 


108  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

US  think  charitably  of  him,  and  rather  pity  him  fot 
want  of  judgment,  than  condemn  him  as  one  capable. 
of  such  base  treachery.' 

The  unbroken  solitude  in  which  the  royal  brothers 
now  passed  their  days  in  the  Tower,  was  far  more 
wearisome  to  Prince  Richard  than  to  the  young  king, 
whose  studious  and  reflective  turn  of  mind,  which 
was  united  with  fervent  and  unaffected  piety,  enabled 
him  to  bear  with  patience  and  equanimity  every  trial 
that  was  laid  upon  him,  and  to  recognise  the  hand  ol 
his  Almighty  Father  in  the  adversity  that  had  befallen 
him.  Restraint,  confinement,  deprivation  of  regal 
state,  gay  sports,  and  pleasant  exercises,  he  endured 
without  repining,  and  endeavored  to  employ  the  lei- 
sure they  afforded  him  in  improving  his  own  mind 
and  cultivating  that  of  his  younger  brother,  who  pos- 
sessed great  precocity  of  intellect,  a  sharp  piercing 
wit,  united  with  singular  powers  of  observation  and 
great  facility  in  acquiring  languages,  and  every  thing 
in  which  he  was  instructed ;  but  with  all  this  he  was 
volatile,  restless,  and  impatient  of  restraint.  His  gay 
ardent  spirits,  when  once  depressed  by  confinement 
and  gloomy  anticipations,  lost  their  vivacious  tone,  and 
he  became  dejected,  listless,  and  sorrowful,  and  resis- 
ted all  his  anxious  brother's  attempts  to  cheer,  or  rouse 
him  fron^  the  morbid  melancholy  into  which  he  was 
nlunged. 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  109 

At  leng'.h  the  good  bishop  of  Ely  found  means  of 
conveying  to  the  young  king  the  pleasing  ii.telligence 
that  he,  with  the  Cardinal  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
the  lords  Hastings  and  Stanley,  and  other  distinguish- 
ed persons,  were  organizing  a  parly  for  the  purpose  of 
opposing  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  ambitious  designs 
upon  the  crown,  (which  he  no  longer  attempted  to  con- 
ceal), to  concert  neasures  for  rescuing  the  captive  prin- 
ces from  his  power,  and  to  assert  the  rights  of  the 
young  king.  The  plans  of  these  prelates  and  nobles 
were  but  in  embryo,  nevertheless,  the  assurance  that 
he  was  not  wholly  forsaken  and  forgotten,  was  suffi- 
cient to  give  comfort  to  the  object  of  their  solicitude  ; 
and  when,  in  the  hope  of  reviving  the  drooping  spir- 
its of  the  beloved  partner  of  his  captivity,  he  communi- 
cated to  him  the  friendly  dispositions  of  these  powerful 
partisans,  the  lively  imagination  of  the  youthful  prince 
picturing  to  him  his  deliverance  as  certain,  transpor- 
ted him  at  once  from  the  depths  of  despair  to  the  ex- 
tremes of  joy,  and  he  became  of  a  sudden  so  full  of 
joy  and  animation,  that  his  brother  was  compelled  to 
check  his  playful  vivacity,  lest  his  altered  demeanor 
should  excite  the  suspicions  of  their  attendants. 

'  The  prospect,  however  remote,  of  being  restored  to 
freedom,  friends,  and  royal  dignity,  is  indeed  a  cordial 
10  my  sad  heart,  dearest  Richard,'  said  the  kinij ;  '  tut 
10 


110  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

when  I  consider  the  uncertainty  of  all  human  purpo* 
ses,  and  the  chances  and  changes  to  which  the  best 
appointed  schemes  of  earthly  wisdom  are  subject,  I 
dare  not  reckon  on  the  result  of  this,  which  may  too 
probably  end  in  disappointment,  if,  indeed,  it  have  not 
the  effect  of  precipitating  our  fate.' 

'  Dear  Edward,  do  not  damp  our  present  hopes  by 
moralizing  thus,'  said  Prince  Richard  impatiently ;  '  I 
am  sure  the  trusty  Lord  Hastings  has  it  in  his  power 
to  do  much  ;  he  is  a  very  brave  and  worthy  nobleman, 
bold  in  field  and  wise  in  council,  and  he  will  be  cer- 
tain to  effect  our  deliverance.' 

'  We  had  not  been  where  we  now  are,  Richard,  had 
not  that  very  Hastings  on  whom  you  are  placing  such 
reliance,  in  order  to  gratify  his  animosity  against  my 
uncle  Rivers  and  the  rest  of  our  maternal  kindred, 
countenanced  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  lawless  pro- 
ceedings at  Northampton,  against  those  noble  lords 
who  are  now  languishing  in  hopeless  captivity  in  Pon- 
tefract  Castle,  if,  indeed,  they  may  yet  be  reckoned 
among  the  living.'  And  here  the  thoughts  of  those 
beloved  and  unfortunate  friends  brought  tears  to  the 
eyes,  and  anguish  to  the  affectionate  bosom  of  their 
royal  kinsman. 

On  the  foUowinT:  day  the  captive  princes,  who  were 
still  permitted  to  ittend  mass  in  the  chapel,  bad  just 
concluded  their  dt.  »rotiois,  when  an  unwonted  stir  in 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  Ill 

uat  us  .ally  quiel  part  of  the  fortress  excited  their  cu 
nosity  The  harsh  sound  of  many  voices  engaged  in 
fierce  and  stormy  altercation  was  succeeded  by  the 
clash  of  arms,  and  the  rush  of  advancing  and  I'ece- 
ding  feet.  The  confused  uproar  of  what  appeared  a 
short  sharp  scuffle  in  the  council  room  died  away,  and 
the  profound  silence  that  followed  was,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  few  moments,  broken  by  the  jangling  discord  of 
raising  the  great  bell,  which  presently  began  to  toll, 
in  dull  heavy  repeated  strokes,  a  dismal  death-knell. 
Then  the  portentous  roll  of  muffled  drum  and  the 
measured  tramp  of  armed  men  was  heard  in  the  court 
below. 

The  cheeks  of  the  captive  princes  became  pale  with 
fearful  interest  at  these  ominous  sounds.  They  ap- 
proached the  chapel  windows,  and  saw  that  the  yard 
was  filled  with  halbert  and  habergeon  men,  in  the 
centre  of  whom  a  hollow  square  was  formed  that  en- 
closed a  large  block  of  wood,  the  fragment  of  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  that  had  been  hewn  up  into  billets  for 
the  Tower  fires.  This  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Tow- 
er hastily  covered  with  a  black   velvet  pall. 

'Oh,  brother!  what  may  these  dismal  preparations 
portend  ? '  cried  the  young  Duke  of  York,  clinging 
fearfully  to  the  arm  of  the  king,  as  if  for  protection. 

'  A  bloody  execution,  I  fear,'  responded  the  youth- 
ful monarch,  becoming  cold  and  colourless  as  the  ma.- 


112  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

ble  monument  against  which  he  supported  his  agita. 
ted  frame. 

'  Oh,  Edward,  come  away,  and  let  us  hide  ourslves,' 
cried  the  trembling  prince. 

'  Hush  ! '  said  the  king,  '  I  recognise  Catesby  and 
Lovel,  my  uncle  Gloucester's  wicked  coadjutors  in 
nameless  deeds  of  guilt,  and  there  is  Sir  Robert 
Brackenbury,' — 

'  Ah !  '  cried  Prince  Eichard,  with  a  suppressed 
■ihriek,  '  and  there  is  the  fell  headsman,  with  the  dead- 
ly axe  in  his  hand,' — 

'  With  the  edge  towards  the  prisoner  who  is  now 
about  to  be  brought  forth,'  murmured  the  young  king, 
in  a  voice  half  choked  with  the  agonizing  excitement 
of  that  dread  moment  of  suspense  which  intervened 
ere  the  unknown  victim  appeared  upon  the  scene  of 
death. 

'  Oh !  Richard,  Richard  !  it  is  the  Lord  Hastings 
that  powerful  friend  upon  whose  assistance  we  had 
built  such  vain  hopes  of  deliverance  !  Alas  !  and  hath 
his  generous  regard  for  us  brought  him  to  this  ?'  he 
exclaimed,  as  a  gentleman  of  martial  bearing  and  no- 
ble presence  advanced,  bound  and  guarded,  towards 
the  fatal  block.  The  flush  of  fierce  anger  was  upon 
his  sunburned  cheek,  and  his  haughty  brow  was  com- 
pressed and  troubled.  He  looked  round  among  the 
■"ijtectaiors  with  stern  and  reproachful  meaning,  as  if  to 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  113 

upbraid  them  for  their  quiescence  in  tamely  witnessing 
the  illegal  execution  of  an  unjust  sentence;  but  all 
appeared  stunned  and  paralysed  at  the  suddenness  ol 
the  thing,  yet,  notwithstanding  his  outward  bold  de- 
meanor, no  one  was  more  so  than  himself.  '  He  was 
a  warrior  and  a  reveller,'  invincible  in  his  courage  and 
incorruptible  in  his  loyalty  ;  yet  he  was  a  man  of  vin- 
dictive passions,  cruel,  remorseless,  and  licentious  iu 
his  private  conduct,  and,  with  committed  murder  upon 
his  conscience  and  meditated  murder  in  his  heart, 
while  exulting  in  the  assurance  that  the  executions  of 
the  unfortunate  prisoners  at  Pontefract,  whom  he  had 
pursued  with  unrelenting  hatred,  were  to  take  place 
that  very  day,  found  himself  in  the  same  hour  called 
upon  to  render  up  his  own  awful  account  to  Him  from 
whom  no  secrets  are  hidden  !  In  the  desperation  of 
that  dreadful  moment  he  demanded  the  assistance  of 
a  priest,  but  that  consolation  was  denied  him  by  the 
pitiless  instruments  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  ven- 
geance, who  brutally  hurried  the  execution  with  the 
unfeeling  jest,  '  that  the  Duke,  who  had  sworn  not  to 
dine  before  sentence  was  executed,  was  hungry,  and 
in  haste  to  break  his  fast.' 

Faint  and  sickening  with  horror  at  the  scene  before 
him,  the  young  king  turned  with  streammg  eyes  from 
the  can  temp  lalion  of  the  approaching  work  of  death. 


114  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

lO  support  his  terrified  brother,  who  had  swooned  with 
mortal  terror. 

The  dull  heavy  crash  that  announced  the  descent 
of  the  axe  on  the  neck  of  the  devoted  nobleman,  sent 
a  cold  shudder  through  the  frame  of  the  king,  which 
for  a  moment  checked  the  pulsation  of  his  heart,  and 
suspended  his  respiration.  Then  the  customary  proc- 
lamation, in  the  stern  sonoroua  voice  of  the  execution- 
er, '  This  is  the  head  of  a  traitor !  '  followed  by  a  low 
sullen  murmur  among  the  people,  and  the  deafening 
shout  of  '  God  save  the  King,  and  Duke  Richard  the 
Protector,'  from  the  soldiers  and  assistants  in  the  trag- 
edy, declared  too  surely  that  the  deed  of  blood  wag 
perpetrated.  A  minute  after,  the  thundering  dis- 
charge of  the  Tower  guns  shook  the  chapel  to  itn 
foundation,  and  startled  the  fainting  prince  from  tem- 
porary insensibility  into  a  sudden  painful  conscious- 
ness of  waking  horror,  that  appeared  to  his  confused 
imagination  like  the  fantasma  of  a  frightful  dream. 
'  Where  are  we  ?  and  what  has  befallen  us,  Edward  ? ' 
cried  he,  starting  from  his  brother's  trembling  arms, 
and  gazing  fearfully  round  him. 

'  Be  calm,  my  sweet  brother,'  said  the  young  kiii*^, 
drawing  him  tenderly  to  his  bosom ;  '  we  are,  as  be- 
foie,  under  the  protection  of  our  Heavenly  Father, 
though  the  arm  of  flesh  in  which  we  confided  for  de- 
liverance has  just  been   laid  low  in   our   very  sight, 


ROYAL     BROTHERS.  113 

which  must  teach  us  the  vanity  of  placing  our  reli- 
ance on  any  earthly  stay.'  Here  a  passionate  burst 
of  tears  relieved  his  full  heart,  and  the  royal  brothers 
enfolding  each  other  in  a  close  embrace,  continued  to 
weep  till  the  entrance  of  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury, 
pale  and  agitated,  who,  on  learning  that  the  young 
princes  had  been  left  alone  in  the  chapel,  by  the  atten- 
dants, officers,  and  officiating  priests  and  servitors  all 
hurrying  to  witness  the  execution  of  the  unfortunate 
Lord  Hastings,  had  hastened  thither  in  great  alarm 
lest  they  should  have  availed  themselves  of  that  op- 
portunity for  attempting  their  escape. 

He  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  satisfaction  on  finding 
they  were  safe,  and  requested  permission  to  attend 
them  to  their  apartment. 

'  Oh  !  Sir  Robert ! '  exclaimed  the  king,  '  tell  me 
what  was  the  occasion  of  the  dreadful  sight  I  have 
just  witnessed  V 

'  What  sight  my  royal  liege  ? '  asked  Brackenbury. 

'  The  murder  of  my  Lord  of  Hastings,  at  which  I 
saw  you  so  basely  assisting,'  replied  the  king,  sternly 
regarding  him. 

'  I  grieve  that  such  should  have  been  my  unhappy 
lot,'  replied  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  lowering  his 
eyes  in  confusion  beneath  the  reproving  glance  of  hia 
youthful  captive;  'but,'  continued  he,  '  it  is  the  paiu 
ful  duty  of  my  office  to  be  at  times  compelled  to  wii- 


116  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

ness  and  appear  consenting  unto  deeds  from  which 
one's  inmost  soul  revolts.' 

'  You  may  be  called  upon,  ere  long,  t(,  assist  at  the 
murder  of  your  lawful  sovereign,  whose  gaoler  you 
have  been  so  long,'  observed  the  king. 

'  Now  God  in  his  mercy  forbid  I '  said  Brackenbury, 
greatly  agitated. 

'  We  read  in  holy  writ,  Sir  Robert,  that  Hazael, 
*vhen  the  prophet  revealed  to  him  the  crimes  that  he 
would  commit,  indignantly  replied,  '  Is  then  thy  ser- 
vant a  dog,  that  he  should  do  this  thing  ?  '  And  yet, 
Sir  Robert,  though  forewarned  of  the  evil,  he  went 
home,  and  took  the  very  step  that  led  to  the  fulfilment 
of  the  man  of  God's  prediction,'  returned  the  king, 
'  And  you,  in  like  manner,  when  the  temptation  tries 
you,  and  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  asks  your  assistance 
in  removing  the  obstacles  that  hinder  his  passage  to  the 
throne,  will  deem  it  your  duty  to  be  at  least  quiescent.' 

'  Has  your  Grace  ever  experienced  any  lack  of  du- 
tiful respect  in  your  faithful  servant,  that  you  should 
j/Tong  him  with  such  unkind  suspicions  ?  '  asked  Sir 
Robert  Brackenbury,  much  agitated. 

'I  can  only  judge  of  your  probable  conduct  to  my- 
self under  such  circumstances,  from  your  having  com- 
promised your  conscience  by  becoming  an  accomplice 
m  the  murder  of  my  last  friend,  the  loyal  Hastings,' 
iaid  the  king,  coldly. 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  117 

'  You-  Grace  .s  not  aware  that  Hastings,'  (bserved 
Brackenoury,  '  was  a  principal  agent  in  the  downfall 
of  your  noble  kinsmen,  my  lords  Rivers  and  Grey, 
and  that  he  expressed  the  most  indecent  exultation 
this  very  morning,  just  before  he  attended  that  coun- 
cil which  proved  so  fatal  to  him,  on  learning  that  the 
execution  of  those  unfortunate  nobles  was  to  take 
place  to-day  at  noontide — at  which  time  a  fearful  vis- 
itation of  retributive  justice  hath  fallen  upon  his  own 
head  !  ' 

'  Alas !  my  kind,  my  noble  uncle !  and  you,  my  lov- 
ing brother ! '  exclaimed  the  king,  clasping  his  hands 
in  the  bitter  anguish  of  his  heart  at  this  sad  news ; 
'  and  shall  I  behold  ye  no  more  !  and  have  ye  been 
doomed  to  an  ignominious  death  for  your  faithful  love 
to  me  !  Unhappy  that  I  am  !  to  feel  the  sad  con- 
sciousness that  all  my  friends  are  marked  to  be  cut  off 
by  one  who  misnames  himself  my  Protector ! ' 

This  was  the  drop  of  bitterness  that  made  the  al- 
ready brimming  cup  of  misery  of  which  the  youthful 
king  had  been  compelled  to  drink  overflow.  After  ha 
was  assured  of  the  murder  of  these  beloved  relatives, 
the  cherishing  friends  of  his  childhood,  his  last  hope 
appeared  to  have  deserted  him,  and  he  yielded  to  the 
deepest  despondency.  The  intelligence  of  the  ar- 
rest of   the  Cardinal  Archbishop    of   Canterbury,   ol 

Lord  Stanley,  and  worse   than  all,   that  of  the  good 
11 


118  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Bishop  of  Ely,  all  of  whom  had  been  taken  into  cus- 
tody at  the  same  time  with  lord  Hastings,  had  the  nai- 
ural  effect  of  increasing  his  melancholy ;  with  which 
was  mingled  anxious  apprehensions  for  the  safety  of 
his  mother  and  sisters,  of  whom  he  heard  no  other  ti- 
dings than  that  they  continued  in  the  sanctuary  at 
Westminster,  not  daring  to  stir  thence  for  fear  of  fal- 
ling into  the  power  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  by 
whose  watchful  emissaries  they  were  surrounded  on 
every  side. 

•  Why  do  the  bells  ring  so  merrily  ?  '  asked  Prince 
Richard  one  morning  of  the  sullen  attendant  who 
served  them  at  their  solitary  meals. 

'  It  is  on  account  of  the  coronation  of  the  king,'  re- 
plied the  man  bluntly. 

King  Edward  started,  and  the  prince  his  brother 
angrily  rejoined, 

'  The  coronation  of  the  king !  false  knave  !  what 
mean  you  by  mocking  me  with  thy  ill-mannered 
gibes,  when  you  see  the  king,  wo  the  day,  in  durance  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  him  whom  you  call  the  king,  my  little  lord,' 
replied  the  man ;  '  but  the  people,  who  are  not  to  be 
ruled  over  by  babes  and  sucklings,  have  chosen  that 
wise,  mighty,  and  renowned  prince,  Richard  of  Glou- 
cester, to  be  their  sovereign,  and  he  is  this  day  crown- 
ed and  anointed  king  in  Westminster  Abbey.' 

'  The  false  villain  ! '  exclaimed  the  young  prince 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  119 

now,  as  I  am  a  king's  son  and  a  Plantagenet,  I  would 
I  had  been  this  day  in  the  sanctuary,  for  then  I  might 
have  entered  the  choir,  where  he  durst  not  have  touch- 
ed me,  and  defied  him  as  a  traitor  and  usurper  to  his 
teeth.' 

'  Belike  your  fiery  little  grace  would  also  feel  dis- 
posed to  take  up  the  champion's  glove,  when  he  gives 
the  challenge  in  Westminster  Hall  ?  '  said   the    man. 

'  I  would  I  were  a  man,  and  free  to  do  him  battle 
for  my  brother  King  Edward's  right,'  said  the  prince 
fiercely  clenching  his  hand.  '  Why,  Edward,  my 
sweet  brother,  how  calmly  you  hear  the  news  of  this 
audacious  treason,  which  robs  you  of  your  kingdom.' 

'  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world,  I  perceive,'  re- 
plied the  king  meekly,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven ; 
•  nor  will  my  portion,'  he  softly  added,  '  be  long  with 
those  who  draw  the  breath  of  life.  Those  bells,  that 
ring  such  jocund  peals  to  announce  the  successful 
usurpation  of  my  uncle,  are  my  knell,  and  your's, 
dear  Richard,  also,  for  we  are  now  as  one,  and  the 
solemn  warning  they  sound  to  us  both  is  this,  '  Set 
thine  house  in  order,  for  thou  shalt  die,  and  not  live.' 

'  Oh  !  brother,  brother  ! '  sobbed  the  young  prince, 
'  why  should  we  be  slain  ? — we  have  done  no  wrong. 

'  Ought  not  that  consideration  to  be  our  greatesN 
tiappiness  ?  '  replied  the  king.  '  Would  not  our  guil- 
ty uncle,  think  you,  at  this   moment  give  the  irowo 


120  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

tvhich  he  has  purchased  with  a  thousand  crirLes,  to  be 
able  to  say  what  you  have  said  ?  ' 

'  Oh  I  but  it  is  so  hard  tu  die — and  we  are  so 
young  ! '  said  the  weeping  prince. 

'  Would  it  not  have  been  better  for  my  uncle  Glou- 
cester, if  he  had  been  cut  off  like  his  brother  Rutland, 
whik  innocent  like  him?'  asked  Edward. 

'  Oh !  yes,  but  we  should  never  become  as  wicked 
as  our  uncle  Gloucester.' 

'  Ah  !  Richard,  how  can  you  speak  so  confidently  ? ' 
replied  the  king.  ' '  The  heart  is  deceitful  above  all 
♦hings,  and  desperately  wicked.  Who  can  know  it  ?  * 
We  have  never  experienced  the  temptations  to  which 
that  unhappy  man  has  yielded,  and  doubtless  it  is  in 
mercy  to  us  both  that  we  are  removed  from  the  al- 
lurements of  pleasure,  the  seductions  of  ambition,  and 
the  intoxications  of  power,  for  which  perishing  delu- 
sions we  might  have  imperilled  our  immortal  souls, 
and  forfeited  that  incorruptible  inheritance  which  fa- 
deth  not  away,  for  the  enjoyment  of  which  I  humbly 
hope  our  Heavenly  Father  is  preparing  us,  through 
the  chastening  of  many  sorrows.  Let  us,  my  brother, 
acknowledge  his  goodness  in  all  his  dispensations,  and 
count  the  loss  of  all  earthly  things  as  gain,  for  the 
hope  that  is  set  before  us ;  for  the  light  afflictions  o^ 
ibis  present  time  tire  not  to  be  compared  with  the  e 
ternal  weight  of  glory  which  shall  be  revealed.' 


ROYAL    BROTHERS.  121 

And  now  the.  royal  brothers  appeared  forgotten  by 
the  whole  world  ;  ignorant  of  every  thing  that  passed 
beyond  the  narrow  confines  of  their  lonely  chamber 
they  passed  their  time  in  prayer  and  devotional  exer 
cises  there,  for  they  were  no  longer  permitted  to  at 
tend  divine  service  in  the  chapel,  lest  their  appearance 
should  continue  to  remind  people  that  they  were  in  ex- 
istence, which  their  usurping  uncle  was  desirous  of 
having  wholly  forgotten ;  and  well  he  calculated  on 
the  fickleness  of  popular  feeling,  which,  however  pow- 
erfully excited  for  a  time,  is  so  evanescent  in  its  na- 
ture, that  it  rarely  outlives  the  nine  days'  wonder. 

The  mild  and  heavenly  demeanor  of  the  captive 
king  had  created  a  strong  interest  for  him  in  the  heart 
of  Sir  Robert  Brackenburv,  who  was  accustomed  to 
see  him  every  day,  and  to  ofTer  him  many  little  cour- 
tesies, which  were  very  acceptable  to  those  deserted 
children  of  royalty  at  a  time  when  they  felt  them- 
selves abandoned  by  every  former  friend.  But  his 
visits  were  suddenly  discontinued,  and  when  the  cap- 
tive princes  inquired  of  their  attendant  why  they  did 
not  see  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  as  usual,  he  replied, 

'  He  is  no  longer  lieutenant  of  the  Tower.' 

'  And  who  has  succeeded  to  his  office?'  demanded 
the  king. 

'  One  master  James  Tirrel  has  the  keys  now,  *  re- 


122  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

plied  the  man,  with  a  look  of  peculiar  meaning  :  1 
don't  think  he  is  called  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower, 
though  we  are  to  obey  his  orders.' 

A  fearful  suspicion  of  the  cause  for  which  Sir  Rob- 
ert Brackenbury  had  been  removed,  and  a  person  of 
no  reckoning  inducted  into  an  office  of  such  responsi- 
bility as  the  control  of  the  Tower,  involving  as  it  did 
the  charge  of  state  prisoners  of  their  importance, 
flashed  at  once  on  the  minds  of  both  the  princes;  and 
exchanging  a  look  of  mournful  intelligence,  as  soon 
as  the  attendant  had  withdrawn  they  enfolded  each 
other  in  a  long  and  sad  embrace ;  then  kneeling  down 
together,  they  solemnly  prepared  themselves  for  the 
awful  change  which  they  felt  awaited  them. 

The  king  had  long  been  convinced  of  the  vanity 
and  insufficiency  of  all  earthly  things ;  he  had  expe- 
rienced many  a  bitter  lesson  of  the  fickleness  and 
treachery  of  a  world  which  had  at  first  appeared  in 
such  flattering  colors,  and  as  if  only  made  for  him, 
but  which  had  abandoned  him  on  the  first  reverse  of 
changing  fortune.  His  young  heart  was  now  weaned 
from  its  delusions,  and  had  learned  to  fix  its  hopes 
where  only  true  joys  are  to  be  found.  Yet  the  im- 
mediate prospect  of  death,  either  by  open  violence  or 
midnight  murder,  was  terrible  to  him,  and  the  thought 
that  his  little  brother  would  undoubtedly  be  involved 
in  the  same  dismal  fate,  increased  the  agony    with 


ROYAL  BROTHERS.  123 

which  shuddering  nature  contemplated  the  probability 
of  their  impending  doom.  The  anguish  too  with 
wh.ch  the  fond  heart  of  his  afflicted  mother  would  be 
pierced,  when  the  dreadful  intelligence  should  reach 
her,  recurred  to  his  mind,  and  the  idea  of  her  unpro- 
tected desolate  state,  and  that  of  his  helpless  sisters, 
filled  his  eyes  with  tears,  and  increased  in  a  tenfold 
degree  the  bitterness  of  death.  Yet  in  that  hour  of 
sore  distress,  though  sorrowful,  he  was  not  forsaken  ; 
a  calm,  a  heavenly  calm,  the  result  of  deep  and  fer- 
vent prayer,  succeeded  in  his  soul  to  the  tumultuous 
tempest  of  earthly  griefs  and  earthly  cares  with  which 
it  had  been  agitated.  The  dove-like  wings  of  hope 
and  faith  were  then  expanded,  and  his  heavenward 
spirit  appeared  eager  to  flee  away  and  be  at  rest. 

His  devotions,  and  those  of  his  little  brother,  were 
prolonged  that  night  to  a  very  late  hour,  and,  after  re- 
commending themselves,  their  widowed  mother,  their 
orphan  sisters,  and  all  friends  who  might  still  remem- 
ber them  or  who  suffered  for  their  sakes,  to  the  pro- 
tection of  that  merciful  God  whose  all-seeing  eye 
watches  over  the  meanest  of  his  creatures,  likewise 
entreating  his  forgiveness  for  all  who  had  injured 
them,  not  excepting  their  cruel  uncle,  in  behalf  of 
whom  King  Edward,  after  some  little  difficulty,  at 
length  prevailed  upon  his  less  placable  brother  to  join 
him  in  a  solemn  petition  for  forgiveness  at  the  throne 


124  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

of  grace,  they  both  sought  that  bed  which  tvas?  so  soon 
♦,0  be  their  grave. 

*  The  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understand- 
ing,' was  in  the  hearts  of  the  youthful  twain.  Fa- 
tigued with  the  unusual  length  and  fervency  of  their 
devotions,  in  spite  of  their  consciousness  that  the 
snares  of  death  encompassed  them  about,  they  soon, 
entwined  in  each  other's  arms,  sunk  into  a  sleep  so 
calm  and  profound,  that  the  entrance  of  the  murder- 
ous ruffians  who  came  commissioned  to  cut  short  the 
thread  of  their  pure  and  harmless  lives  disturbed 
them  not.  And  so  touching,  so  beautiful  was  the  pic- 
ture of  brotherly  love  and  holy  innocence  which  the 
gentle  pair  presented  in  their  serene  repose,  their 
heads  resting  on  the  same  pillow,  on  which  laid  the 
breviary  book  they  had  been  so  lately  perusing,  thati 
as  one  of  the  murderers  afterwards  confessed,  '  it 
shook  his  guilty  purpose,'  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
taunts  and  threats  of  his  more  obdurate  companion, 
he  could  not  have  perpetrated  the  crime  of  crushing 
two  such  sweet  and  hopeful  blossoms  in  the  bud. 
Yet  both  the  ministers  of  death  agreed  in  performing 
their  barbarous  commission  with  a  comparative  exer- 
cise of  mercy,  for  they  were  careful  not  to  alarm  theii 
gentle  victims  by  rudely  startling  them  from  that  calm 
repose,  which  the  murderous  work  of  one  irrecovera- 
ble moment  converted  into  the  sleep  of  death  and  dis* 


ROSTAL  BROTHERS.  125 

jxiissed  the  pure  spirits  of  these  royal  brothers  to  the 
enjoyment  of  that  heavenly  kingdom,  for  which  the 
perilous,  and  to  them  fatal  distinctions  of  earthly 
greatn^^ss,  had  been  cheaply  exchanged 


f  |e  Cljiise  of  Marcliitnr. 


THE    STORT    OF    KING    EDWARD    THE    MARTY*. 


On  the  death  of  Edgar  the  Second,  sirnamed  the 
Peaceable,  England  was  distracted  by  the  contentions 
of  two  adverse  factions  respecting  the  choice  of  a  suc- 
cessor to  the  crown. 

At  the  head  of  the  most  powerful  party,  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  the  Dunstanites,  was  the  fa- 
mous Archbishop  Dunstan,*  who  supported  the  title 
of  Edward  the  Atheling,  or  prince  royal,  the  eldest 
son  of  the  deceased  monarch  by  his  first  wife.  The 
other  faction,  called  the  Anti-Dunstanites,  were  the 
partizans  of  the  queen  dowager,  the  beautiful  but 
wicked  Elfrida,  who  was  ambitious  of  placing  her 
young  son  Ethelred  on  the  throne,  and  governing  in 
his  name  during  a  long  minority.  But  while  the 
whole  nation  was  divided  and  involved  in  civil  discord 
en  this  point,  and  the  most  deadly  hatred  agitated  the 
minds  of  those  who  espoused  the  rival  claims  of  the 
Bons  of  Edgar,  it  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  youth 

*  Some  account  of  this  celebrated   statesman  and   ecclesiastK   wi  )  b« 
band  in  the  Historical  Summarv. 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  12" 

ful  princes,  though  only  brothers    by    the    half  blood 
were  united  in  the  tenderest  bonds  of  love. 

Edward,  who  had  just  completed  his  fourteenth 
year,  had  been  named  by  his  father  as  his  successor 
The  right  of  primogeniture  was  his  also,  and  in  the 
Witenagemot,  or  great  national  council,  the  eloquence 
and  influence  of  the  two  archbishops,  Dunstan  and 
Oswald,  obtained  a  formal  recognition  of  tho5e  rights, 
and  Prince  Edward  was,  in  conformity  to  the  will 
of  his  deceased  father,  placed  on  the  throne  of  the 
Anglo  Saxons. 

At  the  tender  age  of  seven  years  the  baleful  pas- 
sion of  ambition  had  no  place  in  the  then  guileless 
heart  of  the  younger  prince.  Unconscious  of  the 
charms  of  royalty,  of  which  he  had  as  yet  only  expe- 
rienced the  restraints,  the  loss  of  a  kingdom  was  not 
to  him  matter  of  either  disappointment  or  regret. 
The  only  sorrow  of  which  the  Witenagemot  was  pro- 
ductive to  him  was  his  separation  from  that  beloved 
elder  brother,  in  whose  affectionate  bosom  he  had, 
from  his  earliest  remembrance,  been  wont  to  repose 
his  childish  joys  and  griefs,  and  who  had  been  his 
companion,  his  guide,  and  his  own  svA'eet  familiar 
friend.  Never  were  the  soothing  kindness  and  fond 
endearments  he  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  from 
the  princely  Edward  so  much  required  by  the  Ethel- 
red  as  at  this  period,  when  all  the  evil  passions  of  hi» 


128  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

haughty  inother's  nature  had  been  roused  and  called 
into  baleful  activity  during  her  late  attempts  to  sup- 
plant her  royal  step-son  ;  and,  having  been  foiled  in 
her  endeavours  to  usurp  the  royal  authority  in  Ethel- 
red's  name,  she  vented  her  mortification  and  baffled 
rage  on  the  unfortunate  object  of  her  maternal  ambi- 
tion and  defeated  machinations. 

Weak  in  body  and  feeble  in  mind,  Ethelred  had 
evidently  been  designed  by  nature  for  a  private  sta- 
tion, and  these  constitutional  defects  frequently  sub- 
jected him  to  the  bitterest  reproaches  and  most  inju- 
rious treatment  from  the  imperious  Elfrida,  w^hose 
unrestrained  violence  of  temper  rendered  her  at  all 
times  an  object  of  terror  to  him,  although  occasionally 
experiencing  the  most  pernicious  indulgence  from  her 
when  caprice  inclined  her  to  fondness. 

Child  as  he  was,  Ethelred  was  only  too  painfully 
aware  of  the  evil  traits  of  his  mother's  character,  and, 
since  he  had  been  deprived  by  death  of  his  natural 
protector,  and  afterwards  separated  from  his  affection- 
ate brother,  he  seemed  to  tremble  at  the  sound  of  hei 
step,  and  sought  at  all  times  to  avoid  her  presence, 
while  he  beheld  with  jealous  displeasure  the  caresses 
she  bestowed  on  her  little  cankered  dwarf  Wulstan, 
whose  droll  tricks  an.i  impish  mischief  occasionally 
possessed  the  power  of  diverting  the  black  gloom  that 
oppressed  her,  after  she  had  been  compelled  to  resip- 


vvareha:\i  chase.  129 

ihe  gaiety  and  splendor  of  the  court  for  a  solitary  res- 
dence  in  Corfe  Castle,  one  of  the  royal  demesnes  in 
Dorsetshire,  which  had  been  the  favorite  hunting  pal- 
ace of  her  late  husband  King  Edgar,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  spend  much  of  his  time  there  ;  and 
thither  Elfrida  had  been  allowed  by  her  generous 
step-son  to  retire,  with  her  sou  Prince  Ethelred  and 
a  train  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  his  father's  widow 
Instead  of  being  moved  by  the  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance of  the  young  king,  Elfrida  continued  in  secret 
her  treasonable  practices  against  him.  She  had  al- 
ready sacrificed  her  first  husband  Ethelbald  to  her 
ambition,  and  she  only  waited  for  a  suitable  opportu- 
nity of  attempting  the  life  of  Edward.  The  Arch- 
bishop Dunstan  was,  however,  fully  aware  of  her  cru- 
el and  perfidious  disposition,  and  he  strictly  guarded 
his  royal  pupil  from  all  her  machinations  and  conspi- 
racies against  his  person,  and  warned  him  perpetually 
against  the  imprudence  of  either  admitting  her  to  vis- 
it the  court,  or  trusting  himself  in  the  vicinity  of  hei 
abode.  So  implicitly  had  the  cautions  of  Dunstan 
been  attended  to  by  those  about  the  young  king,  that 
for  a  period  of  three  years  he  had  been  prevented 
from  holding  the  slightest  intercourse  with  Elfrida 
nnd  her  son. 

But  the  affectionate  heart  of  Edward  yearned  to- 
ft'ards  his  younger  brother,  whom  he  earnestly  desired 


130  HISTORICAL    TALKS. 

to  en.ibrace  once  more.  The  cares  of  royalty,  the 
sceptre  of  a  divided  realm,  and  the  severe  restraints 
and  self-sacrifices  imposed  upon  him  by  his  austere 
out  faithful  guardian  Dunstan,  were  grievous  to  the 
youthful  monarch,  who,  in  addition  to  these,  was  com 
pelled  to  submit  to  the  stern  discipline  of  a  monastic 
education  ;  and  the  mode  in  which  learning  was  com- 
municated in  those  days  was  equally  fatiguing  to  ^he 
preceptor  and  painful  to  the  pupil.  Elementary  books 
were  not  then  written  to  facilitate  the  progress  of  ed- 
ucation. There  were  not  above  three  copies  of  a 
meagre  dictionary  in  existence  in  England,  and  les- 
sons were  learned  from  dictation,  till  by  frequent  rep- 
etition the  student  committed  them  to  memory,  or,  ac- 
cording to  the   ancient  phrase,  "  got  them  by  heart." 

These  indispositions  were  distasteful  to  the  young 
king,  and  were  often  sadly  contrasted  by  him  with 
the  pleasures  and  joyous  freedom  of  his  early  years, 
before  his  accession  to  the  regal  dignity  had  burdened 
him  with  the  heavy  fetters  of  state  and  deprived  him 
of  the  amusements  of  his  age,  and  above  all  of  the 
company  of  his  brother  Ethelred,  his  tenderly-beloved 
living  plaything. 

The  royal  manor  and  Castle  of  Corfe  had  been,  as 
I  said  before,  the  favorite  residence  of  the  deceased 
king  his  father,  during  whosu  reign  it  had  been  a  con- 
stant scene  of  gaiety  and  fer/cvity.     The  happy  .'1«>v'J 


WAREIIAM  CHASE.  131 

of  Edward's  childhood  had  been  spent  there,  and 
wh'.in  he  compared  the  gloomy  routine  and  fatiguing 
employments  of  his  present  mode  of  life  with  the 
sweet  remembrances  of  that  pleasant  time,  he  felt  dis- 
posed to  regard  the  demesne  of  the  queen  dowager 
as  a  sort  of  Eden,  contrasted  with  which  the  rest  of 
his  kinsfdom  was  but  an  extensive  wilderness. 

This  desire  of  revisiting  the  scenes  of  his  infancy, 
"his  home,"  as  he  emphatically  styled  Corfe  Castle, 
became  more  pressing  in  proportion  as  it  was  resisted 
by  his  inexorable  guardian  and  the  rest  of  the  wise 
counsellors  by  whose  decision  he,  while  a  minor,  was 
compelled  to  abide,  and  he  secretly  resolved  to  em- 
brace the  first  opportunity  that  might  occur  for  the 
gratification  of  his  wish. 

Meantime,  unremitting  application  to  the  laborious 
studies  and  public  duties  which  Dunstan  enjoined, 
impatience  of  the  restraints  imposed  upon  him,  and 
above  all,  his  incessant  pining  for  the  beloved  scenes, 
and  companion  of  his  childhood,  produced  a  visible 
change  in  his  health.  His  fading  cheek,  heavy  eye, 
and  languid  appearance,  at  length  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Dunstan,  who,  in  common  with  most  ecclesi- 
astics of  that  period,  possessed  a  considerable  knowl- 
edge of  physic,  and  was  desirous  of  administering  to 
his  royal  pupil  a  medicine  which  he  considered  migh 
be  efficacious  to  him. 


132  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

'  It  is  of  no  avail,'  said  Edward,  rejecting  as  ne 
spoke  the  proffered  cup,  '  it  iy  not  a  nauseous  com- 
pound of  drugs  that  will  restore  me  to  heallK.  It  is 
the  divertisements,  the  relaxations,  and  the  companion- 
ships of  my  age  that  I  require.' 

'  Know  you  not,  0,  king  !  that  as  the  lord  of  a 
mighty  nation  you  are  called  upon  to  put  away  child- 
ish things,  and  to  employ  your  precious  time  in  fitting 
yourself  for  the  performance  of  the  important  duties 
which  pertain  to  your  exalted  station  ?  '  said  the  arch- 
bishop. 

'  Ah  !  station  full  of  sorrow  ! '  exclaimed  the  young 
King,  '  how  gladly  would  I  exchange  its  gilded  fetters 
for  the  healthful  toils  and  envied  freedom  of  a  shep- 
herd boy  !  ' 

'  In  the  same  sinful  spirit  of  discontent  and  rebel- 
lion against  the  dispensations  of  the  Most  High,  thou 
wouldst  have  coveted  regal  dignity,  hadst  thou  been 
doomed  to  bear  the  hardships  and  privations  of  a 
herdsman's  lot,'  replied  the  archbishop, 

'  I  could  endure  them  all  patiently,  yea  joyfully, 
were  I  permitted  to  breathe  the  fresh  free  air  of  dale 
and  down  in  liberty,'  rejoined  the  youthful  moriarch, 
•and  to  solace  myself  with  the  company  of  one  dear 
fan"i]iar  friend,  were  it  but  a  day.' 

'  Thou  art  a  perverse  boy,  and  knowest  not  the  val- 
oe  of  a  real  friend   when   thou  hast  found  one,'  said 


WAREIIAM    CHASE.  133 

DunsthTi  repioachfuUy.  '  Thou  deer.iest  me  harsh, 
and  my  counsels  bitter,  because,  instead  of  dissem- 
bling with  thy  folly,  I  labor  to  convince  thee  that  a 
king  is  the  property  of  the  nation  that  permits  his  au- 
thority, and  that  it  behoves  him  to  sacrifice  his  dear- 
est wishes  where  they  interfere  with  the  duty  he  owes 
to  his  people.' 

'  Nay,  but,  my  father,'  said  Edward,  '  my  present 
desire  is  so  simple  in  its  nature,  that  it  concerneth  no 
one  beside  myself,  or  1  would  not  urge  it.' 

'  It  is,  I  know,  of  no  avail  to  reason  with  thy  per- 
versity, to-day,'  said  Dunstan  impatiently.  '  What 
wouldst  thou  ? ' 

'  I  would  fain  hunt  the  deer  in  my  royal  chase  of 
Wareham,'  replied  the  king  in  a  hurried  voice,  being 
awed  by  the  stern  manner  of  his  preceptor  into  dis- 
sembling half  his  wish. 

'Is  that  all?'  demanded  Dunstan,  fixmg  his  pene- 
trating eye  upon  the  varying  cheek  of  the  youthful 
king;  'thou  mightest  well  call  thine  a  simple  wish, 
and  if  thou  hadst  added  foolish  thou  hadst  not  said 
amiss.' 

'  I  knew  thou  wouldst  call  it  so,  my  Lord  Archbish- 
op,' said  the  king  turning  away. 

'  Nay,  Edward,  nay,  this  is  mere  childishness,'  re- 
sumed the  archbishop,  taking  the  feverish  hand  of  hisi 
12 


l34  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

royal  charge,  '  if  hunting  the  deer  be  thy  desire,  far 
be  it  from  me  to  withstand  thee  in  such  a  trifle,  espec- 
ially as  thou  ihinkest  the  fresh  air  and  jocund  exercise 
of  following  the  hound  and  horn  will  restore  thy 
health  and  spirits ;  but  why  shouldst  thou  speak  of 
ihe  distant  woods  of  Wareham  for  thy  divertisement, 
when  thou  hast  thy  royal  and  wide  extended  forest 
and  chase  of  Waltham  so  close  to  thy  loving  city  ot 
London,  that  thou  mayest  enjoy  goodly  pastime  there 
this  very  day,  with  thy  noble  thanes,  and  earldormen 
and  trusty  burgesses  for  thy  company  and  guards  ?  ' 

'  No,'  replied  the  king,  '  I  love  not  to  seek  my  game 
amidst  such  gaping  crowds  of  idle  followers,  and  I 
will  not  hunt  at  Waltham  to-day.' 

'  Thou  shalt  find  goodly  sport  in  the  fair  forests  of 
Windsor,  if  thou  wilt  seek  it  there,'  said  Dunstan,  '  or 
in  thy  chase  at  Sheen,  or  at  Greenwich  and  the  Black- 
heath.' 

'  I  do  not  incline  to  hunt  at  Windsor,'  replied  the 
King,  '  nor  yet  at  Sheen,  nor  Greenwich,  nor  the 
Black-heath,  nor  any  where  but  at  Wareham,  where 
my  royal  father  was  wont  to  rouse  the  deer.' 

'  Wareham  is  too  near  to  Corfe  Castle,  the  abode  of 
the  bold  bad  woman,   thy  ga'''eful  stepdame  Elfrida,' 
replied  Dunstan.     *  tt  is  a   vicinity  fraught  with  peri 
.0  thee,  and  thou  shalt  not  go  thither,  Edward.' 


WAKEHAM    CHASE.  135 

Edward  was  sad  and  sullen  during  th(  remainder 
cf  the  day. 

The  next  morning  there  was  an  evide  at  access  ol 
the  low  fever  that  hung  about  the  young  kirig ;  he 
was  languid  ana  dispirited,  and  would  neither  attend 
to  his  studies,  nor  enter  into  any  of  the  little  plans 
laid  out  for  his  amusement  by  his  courtiers  at  Dun 
stall's  instigation. 

When  Dunstan  perceived  this,  and  observed  that 
his  royal  pupil  sickened  and  rejected  his  food  from 
day  to  day,  he  said  to  him  again,  '  Edward,  what 
wouldst  thou  ?  ' 

'  J  told  thee  before,'  replied  the  youth,  '  but  it  was 
in  vain,  that  I  did  but  desire  to  breathe  the  sweet  air 
of  the  Dorsetshire  hills  and  downs,  and  to  hunt  the 
deer  in  my  pleasant  woods  of  Wareham,  and  lo!  thou 
didst  refuse  me  this  little  thing.' 

'  Because  I  saw  thou  wert  like  a  foolish  bird,  wil- 
fully bent  on  falling  into  the  snare  of  the  cunning 
fowler,'  returned  Dunstan,  '  and  I  know  thou  hast  now 
only  revealed  a  part  of  thy  purpose,  which  is  to  visit 
Corfe  Castle.' 

A  deep  blush  overspread  the  pale  cheek  of  the 
young  king,  as  he  protested  that  he  had  no  such  in- 
ienlion. 

'  I  fear  thou  dost  dissemble  with  thy  true  friend, 
King  Edward,'  said   the   archbishop.     '  In   troth,  mv 


13()  HISTOR   CAL  TALE5 

son,  ;t  is  only  natural  that  thou  shouldst  desire  to  em 
brace  thy  brother  Elheh-ed ;  but   give   up   this    wild 
whim  of  thine,  and  I   will  send  for  the  young  prince 
to  London  when  a  convenient  season  shall  befall.' 

A  feeling  of  false  shame  withheld  the  king  from  ac- 
Rnowledging  that  he  had  not  dealt  candidly  in  the 
matter,  and  he  redoubled  his  protestations  that  his 
whole  desire  was  simply  to  spend  a  few  days  in  hun- 
ting the  game  in  Wareham  forest, which  thing  he  pray- 
ed the  Archbishop  not  to  deny  him.' 

'  Thou  shalt  go,'  said  Dunstan  after  a  long  pause, 
'but  on  condition  that  thou  dost  not  visit  Corfe  Castle, 
nor  hold  any  intercourse  with  the  Queen  Elfrida,  nor 
any  of  her  people.' 

Edward  accepted  the  terms,  but  in  the  secret  hope 
that  accident  would  bring  him  to  a  sight  of  his  broth- 
er without  a  direct  violation  of  his  promise. 

'  The  word  of  a  king  ought  to  be  an  obligation 
more  sacred  than  the  oath  of  another  man,'  said  Dun- 
stan when  they  parted  ;  '  as  you  observe  yours,  so  be 
vour  speed,  my  son.' 

Indisposition,  languor,  and  melancholy,  were  alike 
forgotten  by  Edward,  when,  with  a  gallant  train  of 
nobles  and  gentles,  attended  by  jolly  hunters  and  fal- 
coners, with  hawks  and  hounds,  he  left  London  to  fol- 
ow  the  sj'van  sports  in  the  fair  wolds  and  vales  d 
Dorsetshire. 


AVAREHAM    CHASE.  137 

They  set  fjrth  with  merry  blasts  of  horni,  baying 
of  hounds,  prancing  of  steeds,  waving  of  plumes  and 
brcidered  scarfs  and  mantles,  jingling  of  falcon  bells 
and  blithesome  caroling  of  jocund  voices,  so  that  all 
who  met  them  paused  to  admire  their  goodly  array 
and  sprightly  cheer;  but  Dunstan  beheld  the  depar- 
ture of  his  royal  charge  with  a  sort  of  prophetic  fear 
which  he  could  neither  repress  nor  hide. 

'  Thou  goest,  Edward,'  said  he,  when  he  bestowed 
his  parting  blessing  upon  him — *  thou  goest  like  a  fool- 
ish bird  from  beneath  its  mother's  wing  ere  it  be  fully 
fledged  for  flight ;  God  grant  that  thou  escape  the 
jaws  of  the  serpent  that  are  even  now  expanded  to  de 
vour  thee.' 

Edward  was  touched,  and  indeed  surprised,  at  the 
pathetic  tendernesss  of  his  stern  preceptor's  solemn 
farewell ;  for  Dunstan  was  an  austere  man,  who,  gen- 
erally speaking,  appeared  dead  to  all  human  affections, 
and  insensible  to  the  softer  emotions  of  the  human 
heart.  Yet  now  he  folded  the  young  king  in  his  arms, 
and  wept  over  him  like  a  mother  over  the  child  of  her 
bosom,  who  is  about  to  be  torn  from  her  for  ever. 

Edward's  purpose  was  shaken,  and  for  a  moment 
he  felt  disposed  to  forego  his  long- wished  and  eager- 
ly-antjcipaled  journey,  but  the  ;.e  .iptation  was  loo 
strong  to  be    thus  easily   resign-c'/      Ii  is  a  difTicivU 


138  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

matter  for  young  people,  especially  piinces,  to  know 
who  are  thdir  real  friends.  The  young  king,  who  had 
always  been  accustomed  in  his  childhood  to  receive 
deceitful  flattery  and  caresses  from  Elfrida,  could  not 
prevail  upon  himself,  notwithstanding  her  treasonable 
attempts  to  supplant  him  in  the  succession,  to  regard 
her  as  a  personal  enemy.  He  knew  her  to  be  am- 
bitious, but  he  could  not  believe  that  she  was  wicked  ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  excused  her  conspiring  to  exclude 
him  from  the  throne  on  the  plea  of  her  natural  prefer- 
ence for  her  own  son,  and  he  secretly  considered  Dun 
Stan's  opinions  respecting  her  as  harsh  and  injurious, 
although  he  had  never  ventured  in  direct  terms  to  tell 
him  so.  The  archbishop,  though  tenderly  attached  to 
his  pupil,  and  laboring  incessantly  to  promote  his  in- 
terest, was  too  stern  and  unbending  a  character  to 
study  to  please  him.  He  had  a  plain  and  uncomprom- 
ising manner  of  reproving  his  faults  and  telling  him 
unwelcome  truths,  which  had  the  effect  of  wounding 
his  self-love  and  offending  his  pride. 

It  is  a  correct  observation,  that  people  will  sooner 
forgive  a  serious  injury  than  overlook  an  affront,  and 
Edward,  although  his  step-mother  had  endeavored  to 
deprive  him  of  a  throne,  was  inclined  to  regard  her  more 
in  the  light  of  a  friend  than  the  man  who  had  success- 
fully vindicated  his  rights,  and  watched  day  and  night 
for  his  weal.  But  then,  Elfrida  had  flattered  his  foibles. 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  139 

and  during  his  father's  life  had  procured  him  a  thou- 
siind  improper  indulgences  ;  while  Dunstan  controled 
his  inclinations  wherever  he  considered  it  for  his  in- 
terest so  to  do,  and  subjected  him  to  the  restraints  of 
a  useful  and  virtuous  education. 

It  was  with  feelings  of  the  deepest  regret  that  this 
faithful  guardian  consented  to  the  departure  of  his 
royal  pupil,  especially  as  he  considered  it  incompati- 
ble with  his  sacred  calling,  venerable  age,  and  high 
vocation,  to  accompany  the  court  on  a  hunting  party. 
To  the  best  of  his  power  he  provided  against  any  im- 
prudence on  the  p:irt  of  the  young  king,  by  surround- 
ing his  person  with  a  sufficient  number  of  grave  and 
'ncorruptible  counsellors,  whose  wisdom  and  author- 
ity he  hoped  would  restrain  the  vivacity  and  rash  dar- 
ing of  that  gay  company. 

The  impression  of  his  guardian's  solem  i  warning 
and  unwonted  tears  at  parting  remained  for  some 
days  on  the  mind  of  the  young  king,  and  strengthened 
his  resolution  of  doing  nothing  in  direct  violation  of 
his  promise,  though  he  continued  to  indulge  a  secret 
hope  that  some  lucky  chance  might  afford  him  the 
pleasure  of  an  interview  with  Prince  Ethelred  and  the 
Queen,  for  he  certainly  cherished  a  desire  of  seeing 
the  guileful  Elfrida  as  well  as  her  son.  Wareham 
Chase  was  only  six  miles  distant  from  Corfe  Castle, 
and,  contrary  to  the  advice   of  the  ?age  monit.irs  to 


140  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

whom  the  archbishop  had  delegated  hij  trust,  he  ion 
tinned  to  follow  the  game  in  that  vicinity 

One  day,  when  he  had,  as  much  by  design  as  acci 
dent,  outridden  his  train  in  pursuit  of  a  white  doe  of 
peculiar  beauty  and  fleetness,  he  perceived  through  a 
forest  vista  the  towers  of  Corfe  Castle  rising  in  the 
distance,  over  wood  and  vale,  like  the  gray  crown  of 
the  richly-varied  landscape. 

At  that  sight  a  thousand  sweet  and  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  his  early  days,  connected  with  that  beioved 
spot,  rushed  to  the  mind  of  the  youngjving,  and  filled 
his  eyes  with  tears.  The  boisterous  excitement  of 
the  chase  was  forgotten,  and,  dropping  his  silken  bri- 
dle on  the  neck  of  his  gallant  gray,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  pensive  and  regretful  feelings  on  the  subject  of 
its  being  denied  him  to  revisit  the  home  of  his  child- 
hood. 

'And  thou,  my  fair-haired  brother,' said  he,  'who 
art  now  perchance  tossing  the  ball  in  the  castle  court, 
or  chasing  the  butterfly  from  flower  to  flower  over  the 
garden  lawns  and  gay  parterres,  in  the  thoughtless 
glee  of  thine  happy  age,  thou  thinkest  not,  I  ween, 
that  the  fond  brother  in  whose  bosom  thou  wert  won? 
so  oft  to  nestle  when  tired  with  playful  gambols,  is  so 
near,  if  indeed  thou  dost  still  remember  him.' 

While  the  young  king  was  still  indulging  in  these 
»houghts    a  strange  sharp  cry  near  him  caused  him  to 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  l4l 

look  round,  when,  to  his  surprise,  a  grotesque  little 
creature,  that  appeared  neither  like  a  child  nor  an  ani- 
mal, but  something  between  both,  sprang  out  of  a 
thicket  near  him,  and  coiling  itself  up  in  the  form  i 
a  ball,  rolled  down  the  hill  before  him.  Edward's  cu- 
riosity was  excited,  and  he  spurred  his  horse  forward 
to  overtake  it,  but  when  the  creature  perceived  his  in- 
tention, he  bounded  up,  and  erecting  himself  to  his 
full  height,  which  did  not  appear  to  be  above  two  feet. 
}ie  wnirled  his  long  lean  arms  aloft,  and  clapping  his 
hands  above  his  head,  uttered  a  cry  so  long  and  shrill 
that  it  pierced  the  king's  ears  with  a  painful  sensation, 
and  was  answered  back  by  a  thousand  echoes  from 
grot  and  hill,  in  the  deep  solitude  of  Wareham  forest. 
The  tales  of  malign  fairies  and  woodland  imps  were 
then  in  common  belief,  and  the  young  king  thought  it 
possible  that  this  singular  creature,  whom  he  had  thus 
unexpectedly  encountered,  might  be  one  of  these  mys- 
terious beings  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much.  But 
then  he  had  also  a  shadowy  remembrance  of  having 
seen  in  his  early  childhood  a  sprightly  animal  that 
bore  a  grotesque  resemblance,  both  in  form  and  face, 
to  a  diminutive  man,  vvhich  played  a  thousand  antic 
tricks,  and  was  greatly  caressed  by  the  queen  and  her 
ladies  ;  but  it  had  either  been  stolen  or  made  its  es- 
cape from  the  pala:e  of  Corfe  into  the  neighboring 
woods    ani  though  a  period  of  nine  or  ten  years  hari 


142  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

elapsp'i  since  thi?  event,  King  Edward  wis  simple  en 
Dugh  to  believe  that  this  was  the  veritaUe  creature 
whose  'oss  had  been  so  deeply  lamented  by  all  the  pa^ 
g-es  and  females  of  the  royal  household,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  overtake  it,  if  possible,  whether  it  were  mon- 
Icey,  fairy,  or  imp. 

But  the  object  of  his  pursuit,  however  diminutive 
in  person,  was  more  than  a  match  in  swiftness  of  foot 
for  the  fleet  hunter  on  which  the  king  was  mounted, 
and,  like  the  goblin  page  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,  where  Edward  '  rode  one  mile 
he  ran  four,'  yet  with  provoking  subtlety  he  continued 
always  to  keep  in  sight,  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  race  and 
wished  to  continue  it.  Sometimes,  when  he  had 
climbed  a  hill,  whose  steep  rugged  ascent  was  scaled 
with  difficulty  by  the  royal  steed,  he  paused  on  the 
brow,  laughing  with  malicious  glee,  and  swinging 
himself  from  bough  to  bough  among  the  embowering 
trees,  till  the  king  was  nearly  upon  him,  then  darting 
forward  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  he  resumed  his 
flight,  and  in  a  few  minutes  distanced  his  pursuer. 
Sometimes,  when  Edward  thought  he  had  entirely 
lost  all  trace  of  the  tantalizing  elf,  and  was  meditating 
how  he  should  recover  the  track  from  which  he  had 
io  widely  deviated,  he  heard  the  same  sharp  shrill  cry 
that  had  first  announced  his  appearance  close  to  hij 
ear,  and  perceived  a  round  rough  hef'd,  covered   with 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  143 

shaggy  brown  locks  of  t?ingled  ..a  r,  through  which 
peered  a  pair  of  small  keen  black  eyes,  peeping  ainidsi 
the  foliage  or  clustering  ivy  of  some  gnarled  oak  that 
wreathed  its  low  fantastic  arms  across  the  path,  from 
which,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  he  was  observed,  he 
leaped  with  a  sudden  bound,  and  clapping  his  hands 
and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  started  away  a- 
gain  down  some  opening  glade  of  the  forest,  leaving 
horse  and  rider  far  behind.  Both  were  now  thorough- 
ly hot  and  weary  ;  the  young  king,  who  bad  been  on 
horseback  ever  since  daybreak,  and  fasting  withal, 
thought  of  giving  up  this  unprofitable  chase  as  a  mat- 
ter of  necessity,  on  account  of  the  jaded  condition  of 
his  good  steed,  and  his  own  fatigue  and  faintness. 
But  the  object  of  his  pursuit  appeared  in  still  worse 
plight,  limped  as  if  krrj8,  and  sometimes  rested  on  the 
green  turf  as  if  thoroughly  exhausted,  weeping  and  ut- 
tering low  moaning  plaints,  and  King  Edward  thought 
he  was  now  secure  of  his  prize,  especially  as  they 
had  reached  the  farthest  boundary  of  the  forest,  and 
were  on  the  verge  of  an  open  park,  towards  which 
the  urchin  began  to  creep  on  all  fours,  occasionally  rol- 
ling himself  over  and  over  at  a  great  rale. 

'  This,'  thouf  ht  the  young  king,  '  is  his  last  efTort, 
'Old  I  shall  presently  overtake  him  on  the  plain  when 
nee  he  loses  the  vantage  of  the  underwood  and  thick 
ets  •     and  lest  he   should  alarm  him  into  plunging  i 


144  HISTORICAL  T(lLE3. 

midst  Its  tangled  mazes  once  n\ore,  he  followed  him 
at  a  cautious  distance  till  he  emerged  from  the  forest 
shades,  and  proceeded  at  a  gentle  pace  across  the 
park,  the  enclosure  of -which  they  had  entered. 

Edward  had  been  led  on  from  glade  to  glade  through 
the  green  mead,  in  his  eager  pursuit  of  the  wily  ur- 
chin, without  pausing  to  examine  the  scenery  through 
which  he  rode,  or  he  might:  possibly  have  recognised 
many  objects  familiar  to  him  in  days  past ;  nor  was 
it  till  he  had  leaped  the  enclosure  of  the  park,  and 
looked  round,  that  he  discov^ered  he  was  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity,  almost  at  the  gates  of  Corfe  Castle, 
which  rose  before  him  in  all  its  well  remembered  re- 
gal grandeur,  as  in  the  days  when  his  father,  King 
Edgar,  kept  court  there.  The  intermediate  time,  the 
important  events  that  had  since  befallen  the  youthful 
monarch,  the  solemn  warning  of  his  guardian  against 
his  venturing  near  this  much  loved  abode  of  his  child- 
hood, and  his  own  promise  not  to  do  so,  were  alike 
forgotten  by  King  Edward  when  he  found  himself  so 
unexpectedly  on  the  spot  to  which  he  had,  in  fact, 
been  artfully  allured  by  Wulstan,  the  queen's  dwarf, 
the  mishappen  little  elf,  who  had  led  him  such  a  wea- 
ry chase  through  the  forest,  and  now,  uttering  an  imp- 
ish yell,  fled  down  the  broad  avenue  of  oaks  that  led 
to  the  castle  with  the  speed  cf  a  lapwing,  and  seizing 
the  bugle  that  hung  at  the  portal,  blew  a  blast  tha 


WAREHAM  CHASE  145 

drew  all  the  inhabitants  to  the  windows  and  balcories 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  summons. 

The  king,  perceiving  that  it  would  now  be  impossible 
for  him  to  withdraw  unobserved,  considered  that  it 
would  have  a  very  mean  appearance  if,  after  having 
been  seen  on  the  demesne  of  Queen  Elfrida,  he  re- 
treated without  paying  his  respects  to  her ;  and  by  no 
means  regretting  that  the  rules  of  courtesy  would  af- 
ford an  excuse  to  himself  for  departing  from  a  prom- 
ise which  had  been  so  reluctantly  wrung  from  him,  he 
advanced  towards  the  castle. 

The  queen,  who  was  perfectly  aware  of  his  ap- 
proach, hastened  to  the  gates  to  receive  him,  and  offer- 
ing him  the  homage  of  her  knee,  entreated  him,  '  to 
enter  and  partake  of  the  banquet  which  she  had  pre- 
pared in  anticipation  of  this  visit,  on  hearing  that  he 
was  hunting  the  deer  in  the  neighboring  forest  of 
\Vareham.' 

Notwithstanding  the  fascinating  sweetness  of  the 
queen's  address,  and  the  persuasive  softness  of  her 
voice  and  language,  there  was  an  expression  lurking 
in  the  sidelong  glance  of  her  large  blue  eye,  and 
something  in  the  deceitful  blandishment  of  her  voice 
and  manner,  that,  in  spite  of  his  partial  opinion  of  her 
character,  recalled  the  archbishop's  impressive  warn* 


146  HISTORICAL  TALES, 


iiig,  and  gave  the  king  an  idea  that  she  meditated 
some  sinister  design. 

This  secret  misgiving  induced  him  to  decline  enter- 
ing the  castle,  '  on  account,'  he  said,  '  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  and  the  expediency  of  his  returning  im- 
mediately to  Wareham,  lest  his  court  should  take  the 
alarm  at  his  protracted  absence.' 

'  Thou  art  hot  and  weary,  my  royal  lord,'  replied 
the  queen,  respectfully  kissing  the  hand  of  the  youth- 
ful monarch,  '  and  thou  wilt  not  surely  depart  till  thou 
hast,  at  least,  tasted  a  cup  of  spiced  hippocras,  if  thou 
wilt  not  feast  with  me  to-day.' 

Edward  was  not  willing  to  offend  the  queen  by  de- 
clining this  offer,  especially  as  he  was  fatigued,  and 
stood  in  need  of  refreshment,  and  was,  moreover,  too 
much  inclined  to  linger  near  the  much-loved  abode  ot 
his  childhood;  and  while  Eifrida  took  the  silver  gob- 
let from  her  bower  maiden,  who  stood  holding  it  on  a 
richly  chased  salver,  he  eagerly  inquired  for  his  young 
brother. 

'  Thy  servant,  Ethelred,  is  sick  within  the  castle,  or 
he  had  come  with  me  to  the  gate  to  offer  homage  to 
his  lord,'  replied  the  queen.  '  He  hath  long  pined  iot 
thy  presence,  like  a  plant  that  hath  been  Jepri\ed  of 
sunshine.' 

'  Send  quickly,    my    lady    mother,    and   t'eiVb  h'  < 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  147 

f.iiher,'  exclaimed  the  king  :  '  I  also  have  panted  to 
embrace  him.' 

' Brhik  hael*-  first,  my  gracious  lord,'  replied  El- 
frida,  presenting  the  cup  to  the  king. 

He  received  it  with  a  smile,  and  bowing  courteous 
!y  to  the  queen,  repeated  the  accustomed  salutation  of 
'  Waes  hael,'  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  but  the  same 
moment  he  felt  the  stab  of  an  assassin's  dagger  from 
behind.  He  dropped  the  fatal  goblet  from  his  hand, 
and  cast  a  look  of  keen  but  silent  reproach  on  his  per- 
fidious step-mother ;  but  ere  he  could  recover  his  bri- 
dle rein,  to  turn  his  steed  for  flight,  the  deadly  thrust 
was  repeated,  and  his  treacherous  assailants  closed 
about  him  to  prevent  his  escape. 

Indignation  at  the  deep-laid  iniquity  of  the  snare 
into  which  he  had  suffered  himself  to  fall  thus  easily, 
rendered  the  young  king  insensible  for  a  moment  to 
the  smart  of  his  wounds;  but  fully  aware  of  the  des- 
peration of  his  situation,  he  struck  the  rowels  into  the 
sides  of  his  mettled  gray,  and  the  good  steed,  as  if  e- 
qually  conscious  of  his  master's  peril,  with  one  gal- 
lant bound  broke  through  the  murderous  circle,  and 
dashed  across  the  plain  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow 
just  discharged  from  the  bow,  and  presently  distanced 

•  The  Saxon  phrase  for  drinking  health,  from  which  expreision  that  onc« 
general  cuatom  was  derived,  which  means,  *'  Wish  Iiealth,"  or  "  I  wirt 
your  health." 


148  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

•he  pursuit  of  the  traitors,  who  continued  to  I, 'ace  th« 
course  the  wounded  king  had  taken  by  the  red  Hfe- 
drops  that  tracked  his  path  through  the  forest. 

The  last  sound  that  fell  on  Edward's  ear  was  the 
piercing  cry  of  a  child  in  mingled  grief  and  terror, — 
it  was  the  voice  of  his  brother  Ethelred,  who,  on  be- 
holding the  barbarous  deed  from  a  window  of  the  cas- 
tle, filled  the  air  with  his  shrieks  and  lamentations. 
The  assurances  of  his  guilty  mother,  that  it  was  for 
his  sake,  and  to  make  him  a  king,  that  the  crime  had 
been  perpetrated,  instead  of  consoling  him,  increased 
his  distress  to  such  a  passionate  degree,  that  the  queen, 
who  considered  his  tears  a  reproach  to  herself,  becom- 
ing infuriated  at  what  she  styled  his  unseasonable  sor- 
row, threw  herself  upon  him,  and  beat  him  in  so  vio- 
lent a  manner*  that  it  was  for  some  time  a  matter  of 
doubt  to  those  about  her  whether  she  had  not  slain  her 
own  son  in  the  ungovernable  transport  of  her  rage, — 
that  son,  for  whose  advancement  she  had  the  moment 
previous  caused  so  deadly  a  crime  to  be  per])etrated  in 
her  very  presence. 

The  unfortunate  Edward  meantime,  though  he  had 
succeeded  in  outstripping  the  pursuit  of  his  ruthless 
enemies,  was  sensible  of  the  approach  of  a  foe  w^hom 

♦  "  With  a  wax  altar  taper,"  says  the  Saxon  chroniclerg,  "  that  being 
Iho  first  weapon  that  fell  in  the  way  of  this  furious  and  un  easonabia 
iroman." 


WAREHAM    CHASE.  149 

he  could  neither  resist  nor  flee  from.  Life  ebbed  a- 
pace  from  his  unstaunched  wounds,  the  landscape 
reeled  in  confusion  before  his  swimming  eyes,  he 
struggled  with  the  deiidly  faintness  that  was  stealing 
over  him,  and  labored  to  rally  his  failing  powers  ;  but 
the  hand  of  death  was  heavy  at  his  heart ;  the  reins 
cropped  from  his  relaxing  grasp,  and  he  fell  from  the 
saddle  to  the  ground. 

It  is  related  that  the  foot  unfortunately  catching  in 
the  stirrup,  the  body  of  the  king,  whether  dead  or  liv- 
ing is  not  exactly  known,  w^as  much  mangled,  in  con- 
sequence of  being  dragged  at  a  rapid  rate  along  the 
ground  by  the  terrified  horse,  which  at  length  stopped 
of  his  own  accord,  at  the  gate  of  a  blind  widow's  cot- 
tage. This  lonely  woman,  notwithstanding  the  depri- 
vation of  sight  under  which  she  labored,  ascertained 
that  some  fatal  accident  had  befallen  the  unfortunate 
youth,  and  though  ignorant  of  his  rank,  she  humane- 
ly carried  the  bleeding  body  into  her  humble  dwelling, 
and  laid  it  on  her  own  bed,  while  she  hastened  to  pro- 
cure assistance. 

The  wicked  Elfrida,  whose  emissaries  had  tracked 
the  horse  to  this  place,  sought  to  conceal  her  crime  by 
causing  the  corpse  of  the  murdered  king  to  be  thrown 
down  a  deep  well ;  but  there,  in  consequence  of  the 
evidence  of  the  blind  widow,  it  was  presently  discov* 


150  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

ered  by  his  sorrowful  friends,  and  her  guilt  was  pro« 
claimed  to  the  whole  world,  by  the  indignant  Arch 
bishop  Dunstan,  at  the  coronation  of  her  son  Ethel- 
red,  and  he  then  predicted  that  a  crown  so  obtained 
could  never  prosper  with  the  descendants  of  this  bad 
woman. 

The  high  rank  of  the  queen  protected  her  from  the 
punishment  due  to  her  crime ;  but  she  was  regarded 
with  hatred  and  contempt  by  all  mankind  ;  and  feel- 
ing herself  an  object  of  horror  to  her  own  son,  for 
whose  advancement  she  had  perpetrated  this  barba- 
rous deed,  and  above  all,  tormented  by  the  fearful 
stings  of  her  own  accusing  conscience,  she  retired  to 
the  gloomy  shades  of  a  convent,  where  she  spent  the 
residue  of  her  days,  vainly  endeavoring,  by  constani 
oenancw  and  fasts,  to  expiate  her  crime. 


f  t|t  Sons  of  tl)c  ConqucoT. 


A    STORY  OF    THE    TIMES    OF    WILLIAM    THE    FIRST, 


Just  on  the  confines  of  the  New  Forest  stood  a  low 
tenement,  belongings  to  an  old  Saxon  ceorl  or  chur 
called  Redwald.  This  cottage  was  not  always  lonely 
though  it  stood  the  last  in  a  long  pleasant  pastoral  vil 
lage,  chiefly  inhabited  by  herdsmen,  who  were  all  uni- 
ted in  the  bonds  of  relationship  in  different  degrees 
being  the  descendants  of  one  family,  who  had  m  times 
gone  by  settled  on  a  fruitful  spot  in  Hampshire  aboun 
ding  in  pasture  and  water. 

This  happy  village  was  a  little  community,  linked 
together  by  the  strongest  ties  of  love  and  neighbor- 
hood; always  ready  to  serve  and  assist  each  other,  th3 
affections  of  the  inhabitants  were  never  extended  be- 
vond  their  own  little  circle. 

Such  was  their  situation  when  William  the  Con- 
queror issued  his  lawless  edict  to  turn  the  most  fertile 
spot  in  Hampshire  into  a  hunting  ground  or  chase,  to 
effect  which  he   razed   and  destroyed  thirty-six  chur 


152  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

ches,  and  d^opulated  a  much  greater  number  o! 
towns,  villages,  and  pleasant  hamlets.  This  spot  now 
occupies  an  extent  of  thirty  or  forty  miles,  and  in  those 
fearful  days  was  of  much  greater  circumference. 
From  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest  it  has  been 
known  by  the  name  of  the  New  Forest. 

When  the  agents  of  the  Norman  despot  drove  out 
the  whole  township  of  Redwald's  kindred,  and  level- 
led their  pleasant  and  comfortable  cottages  with  thp. 
dust,  they  spared  the  old  man's  homestead,  not  be- 
cause they  were  actuated  by  merciful  feelings,  but  be- 
cause it  lay  without  the  boundary  prescribed  by  the 
tyrant  for  the  confines  of  his  chase.  Thus  the  dwell- 
ing of  Redwald  was  left  standing  but  utterly  desolate,, 
his  friends,  neighbors,  and  kin  being  violently  driven 
from  their  birth-places,  and  their  happy  hearths  laid 
bare  for  wild  creatures  and  the  beasts  of  the  forest  to 
couch  upon.  Some  of  the  neighbors  went  one  way, 
some  another  ;  all  shunned  the  heart-breaking  sight  of 
destruction,  and  dreaded  to  settle  in  the  vicinity  of  a 
place  from  which  they  had  been  so  lawlessly  expelled : 
and  the  old  Saxon,  Redwald,  saw  himself  surrounded 
by  a  lonesome  desert  in  a  place  which  within  a  few 
weeks  had  been  a  scene  of  cheerful  industry.  Red- 
wald's heart  swelled  as  if  it  would  have  burst  when 
he  saw  the  last  lingerer  depart  from  the  shelter  ne  had 
afforded  him,  to  seek  his  fortune  in  some  distant  part 


SONS    OF    THE    CONQUEROR.  153 

of  England ;  he  too  would  have  deserted  a  spot  now 
become  hateful  to  him,  and  left  the  home  that  the  ca- 
price of  the  conqueror  had  spared,  but  he  had  those 
around  him  who  looked  up  to  him  for  bread,  the  in 
fant  family  of  a  son  that  had  fallen  in  the  battle  o: 
Hastings,  being  one  of  the  hasty  levies  summoned  by 
King  Harold  to  repel  the  Norman  invasion.  As  these 
infant  children  had  likewise  lost  their  mother,  their 
helplessness  bound  Redwald  to  the  spot  where  he 
could  find  provision  for  their  wants.  But  the  old 
man's  heart  yearned  after  his  expatriated  neighbors, 
after  the  old  faces.  He  became  silent  and  melan- 
choly, and  would  pass  his  sabbaths  sitting  alone  on  the 
site  of  the  churchyard,  looking  on  the  levelled  graves 
of  his  ancestors  and  parents,  for  the  Norman  spoiler 
had  desecrated  the  grave-ground,  and  levelled  the  vil- 
lage church.  Without  priest  or  service,  the  Saxon 
peasant  gathered  his  young  grandchildren  together, 
under  a  spreading  yew,  which  marked  what  had  once 
Deen  holy  ground,  and  endeavored  to  offer  up  a  bro 
ken  worship,  consisting  of  such  psalms  and  hymns  as 
his  memory  furnished  him  with,  from  a  long  course  of 
attendance  of  divine  service  on  Sundays  and  holidays, 
while  the  parish  and  the  parish  church  were  in  exis 
tence.  This  worship  generally  ended  with  a  long  and 
bitter  recital  of  the  wrongs  of  his  family  atid  peopb, 
and  with  a  petition  to  Heaven  to  hear  the  cry  of  the 


154  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

oppressed,  and  requite  the  misery  of  the  English  on 
Ihe  Norman  and  on  his  seed,  and,  at  ave  all,  to  make 
the  very  place  from  which  William  had  drivt  n  harm- 
less families  and  the  service  of  God,  the  scene  of  the 
destruction  of  those  most  dear  to  him. 

'  Marry !  be  these  your  forest  homilies  and  Saxon 
prayers,  old  churl  ? '  cried  a  gay  voice  behind  him,  as 
Redwald  stood  beneath  the  yew  tree  with  his  hands 
clasped  and  his  white  hair  waving  in  the  evening 
breeze,  looking  upward  as  he  concluded  his  petition, 
while  his  grandchildren,  gazing  upon  him  with  their 
round  blue  eyes  expanded,  earnestly  echoed  the  cus- 
'omary  '  Amen'  to  a  prayer  that  they  scarcely  compre- 
hended. It  was  long  since  Redwald  had  heard  the 
sound  of  a  stranger's  voice,  and  though  the  words 
were  purely  English,  they  were  spoken  with  a  foreign 
accent  that  fell  harshly  on  his  ear.  He  looked  around, 
and  saw  emerging  from  the  underwood  that  had  al- 
ready begun  to  encroach  on  the  sacred  ground,  a 
handsome  youth  and  two  boys  ;  the  elder  of  the  lat- 
ter carried  in  his  hand  a  broken  bow,  and  was  remark- 
able fur  his  audacious  demeanor,  his  ruddy  complex- 
■'on,  and  profusion  of  red  hair;  this  was  the  speaker, 
as  Redwald  immediately  recognised  his  voice  when 
he  resumed, 

•  If  the  Conqueror  heard  the  orisons  tboii  offerest 
up  in  his  behalf,  rebellious  churl,  it  were  likely  thai 


THE    SONS    OF    THE    CONaUEROR.  155 

he  left  thee  neither  tongue  to  pray  with,  noi  ej  es  to 
ead  thee  to  break  his  forest  boundaries.' 

Redwald  trembled  at  the  thought  of  incurring  the 
personal  vengeance  of  that  dreaded  Conqueror,  and 
muttered  a  few  words,  representing  that  he  was  a  poor 
ignorant  peasant,  who  had  been  deprived  by  the  forest 
laws  of  priest  and  church,  and  being  an  unlettered 
man  knew  not  what  to  pray  on  the  Sabbath  without 
the  aid  of  the  holy  man ;  and  that  he  never  broke  the 
forest  boundaries  excepting  on  Sundays  and  holidays, 
when  he  went  to  pray  on  the  place  where  his  church 
once  stood. 

'  Tut,  man  !  if  thou  hast  neither  priest  nor  church 
so  much  the  better  for  thee  :  look  you,  this  day  have 
I  and  my  brother,  and  my  little  nephew,  broke  not 
only  from  my  priest,  but  from  a  bishop,  and  not  only 
from  a  church,  but  from  Winchester  cathedral,  to  play 
the  truant  in  the  good  greenwood.  Lo !  I  have  bro- 
ken my  bow ;  cut  me,  I  pray  thee,  with  the  whittle 
that  hangeth  at  thy  girdle,  a  tough  straight  bough  of 
yew,  for  men  declare  that  the  goodhest  English  bows 
be  ever  made  of  that  tree.' 

Redwald  ventured  to  remark  that  it  wa?  not  only 

Sunday  eve,  but   the  vigil   of  Saint  Swithin.     The 

young  scoffer  mocked  aloud,   and  declared  that  nevf 

laws  were  enforced,   whereby  the  Saxon  churls  were 

commanded  to  toil  the  whole  Sabbath,  and  the  Nor- 
14 


156  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

man  noblos  to  sport  and  play  ;  and  that  Saxon  saints, 
as  belonging  to  a  conquered  people,  were  turned  ou 
of  the  calendar. 

Redvvald  liked  his  company  worse  than  ever,  and 
gathering  his  young  grand-children  together,  turned 
to  depart  to  his  cottage,  when  the  little  boy  addressed 
a  few  words  in  another  language  to  the  eldest,  the 
handsome  youth,  who  had  not  before  spoken,  and  who 
now,  in  a  courteous  tone  but  such  broken  English  as 
hardly  to  be  intelligible,  asked  Redwald  whether  he 
could  give  them  any  thing  to  eat,  as  they  were 
hungry. 

Before  Redwald  could  comprehend  this  request,  the 
red-haired  boy  exclaimed — 

'  Hast  never  a  hole,  or  den,  or  sty  in  the  forest, 
where  thee  and  the  young  boors  burrow  for  the  night? 
If  so,  belike  thou  hast  some  food ;  and  we  are  weary 
and  hungry  enough  to  eat  with  thee,  even  if  it  were 
but  husks.' 

'  I  told  you  before,  young  sir,'  said  Redwald,  '  tha 
my  homestead  was  not  in  the  forest ;  and  though  you 
be  the  most  unmannerly  youth  I   ever  met  withal,  it 
shall  never  be  said  that  Redwald  the  Saxon  sent  the 
hungry  empty  from  his  door.' 

The  young  strangers  expressed  their  surprise  to 
each  other  when  they  saw  the  homely  dainties  that 
were  heaped  en  the  board  of  the  Saxon  farmer;  ev« 


THE    SONS    OF    THE    CONQUEROft.  157 

ery  thing  delicious,  that  could  be  compounded  with 
eggs,  milk,  and  honey,  was  set  before  them,  with  old 
strong  cider  made  from  redstreak  apples,  the  produce 
of  the  orchard  in  which  the  cottage  was  embowered. 
The  young  guests  paid  ample  respect  to  the  good 
cheer  before  them,  especially  the  red-haired  boy,  who 
ate  like  a  wolf,  and  behaved  like  a  swine.  When  he 
.lad  at  length  appeased  his  voracious  appetite,  he  filled 
and  emptied  the  wooden  cup  so  often  with  cider,  that 
his  elder  companion  began  to  remonstrate  in  the  Nor- 
man language,  but  he  met  with  a  reply  in  the  same 
tongue,  accompanied  by  a  gesture  so  rude  and  fero- 
cious that  he  did  not  again  attempt  to  interfere,  excep- 
ting by  removing  the  wine  vessel  out  of  the  reach  of 
the  young  child,  who  seemed  inclined  to  follow  the 
evil  example  before  him. 

When  left  to  his  own  devices,  the  ferocious  spirit  of 
the  other  youth  began  to  grow  tamer,  and  subside  in- 
to his  usual  tone  of  boasting  and  swaggering,  and  he 
took  it  into  his  head  to  be  mortified  that  the  sturdy 
Saxon  peasant,  notwithstanding  the  hints  he  had 
thrown  out,  had  manifested  no  awe  at  his  presence, 
nor  seemed  to  have  the  slightest  idea  of  his  rank,  and 
tie  was  resolved  that  he  should  not  for  another  mo- 
ment remain  in  ignorance  of  it.  So  filling  once  more 
the  cup,  he  turned  round  with  a  pompous  air  to  tne 


158  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

old  peasant,  Wiio  was  seated  on  a  three-legged  stJOi 
in  a  corner  of  his  cottage,  shelling  some  beans  to  boil 
for  supper  : — 

--  *  Churl,'  said  he,  '  jou  look  and  behave  as  if  we 
were  fellows  of  no  reckoning,  but  know  that  I  am  one 
of  the  greatest  personages  at  the  Conqueror's  court.' 

'  All  in  good  time,  young  sir,'  replied  Redwald, 
coolly  proceeding  in  his  employment,  '  it  wnl  take 
some  years  before  a  short  thick-set  boy  can  become  a 
great  personage  any  where.' 

A  little  dashed  at  this  rejoinder,  the  young  guest 
filled  another  cup,  and  added — 

'I  will  now  in  truth  inform  you  who  I  really  am.' 

'  I  thought  you  had  told  me  even  now,'  answered 
Redwald  dryly. 

'  I  am,'  continued  the  boy,  much  provoked  by  the 
peasant's  lack  of  curiosity,  '  Prince  William,  surnam- 
ed  Rufus,  the  third  son  of  the  Conqueror.' 

'  Hum  ! '  interjected  Redwald,  in  an  incredulous, 
tone. 

*  And  as  for  these  in  company  with  me,'  added  he, 
'  yonder  sits  Prince  Richard,  the  second  son  of  the 
Conqueror;  and  this  child  is  no  less  a  person  than 
tne  son  of  Robert  of  Normandy,  my  elder  brother.' 

But,  instead  of  being  awe-struck  at  this  informa- 
tion, the  Saxon  peasant  arose  in  a  huff,  put  the  siop- 
Dle  into  the  bottle,  and  carried  off  the  cup  saying,  '  If 


SONS    OF    THE    CDNaUEROR.  159 

I  let  you  have  any  more  of  this  strong  drinl  I  shall 
have  you  commit  sacrilege  next,  and  fancy  yourseL 
the  son  of  his  Holiness  the  Pope  !' 

'Then  whom  think  you  we  be?'  asked  Rufus, 
much  mortified  at  the  disappearance  of  the  good  cheer 

'  By  your  unnurtured  bearing,'  replied  tlie  Saxon, 
*  I  should  guess  you  to  be  some  runaway  Norman 
horseboy,  or  peradventure  a  pert  page  who  has,  with 
his  playmates,  truanted  from  the  court  at  Winchester.' 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  wrath  and  fury  of  the 
Red  Prince  at  this  intimation  ;  he  stamped  on  the  ear- 
•hen  floor,  and  screamed  unintelligibly  with  passion ; 
his  brother,  who  did  not  understand  sufficient  En- 
glish to  comprehend  the  passing  scene,  was  some 
time  before  he  could  prevail  on  William  to  explain  in 
their  native  tongue  the  conversation  that  had  thrown 
him  into  such  transports  ;  when  at  last  the  provoca- 
tion was  translated  by  his  brother  into  Norman 
French,  he  laughed  heartily  at  the  peasant's  mistake, 
and  wished  that  he  had  been  master  of  sufficient  En- 
glish to  carry  on  the  joke. 

At  that  instant  a  troop  of  forest  rangers,  accompa- 
nied by  Norman  men  at  arms,  dressed  in  hauberks  or 
chained  mail,  rode  up  to  the  cottage,  and  demanded 
vociferously  if  the  young  princes  had  been  seen  to 
pass  that  way.  The  appearance  of  Prince  Richard 
at  the  door  quieted  their  alarm,  bat  he  was  forced  \a 


160  HISTORICAL  Tales. 

exert  all  the  authority  of  an  elder  brother  to  ai^ert  the 
lawless  wrath  of  young  William,  who  commanded 
the  men  at  arms  to  seize  his  host,  and  hang  him  on 
the  branches  of  the  yew  tree  with  his  grand-children 
round  him ;  but  the  better  spirit  of  Prince  Richard 
prevailing,  prevented  him  from  making  so  atrocious  a 
return  for  the  Saxon  peasant's  hospitality.  He  forced 
his  furious  brother  from  the  cottage,  and  then,  by  a 
few  words  of  imperfect  English  and  a  courteous  ges- 
ture, he  expressed  a  sense  of  obligation  to  his  host, 
and  bade  him  farewell. 

Nor  did  the  gratitude  of  Prince  Richard  stop  there ; 
the  next  morning  he  sent  to  Redwald  by  a  trusty  fol- 
'ower  who  understood  English,  a  purse  of  gold  marks, 
and  his  advice  to  leave  the  cottage  as  soon  as  possible. 

Redwald  did  not  neglect  this  warning,  and  before 
noon  was  on  his  way  with  his  grand-children  to 
Southampton,  from  whence  he  embarked  for  Briitany, 
which  had  been,  from  the  first  northern  invasions  of 
England,  a  place  of  refuge  for  British  exiles.  Red- 
wald did  not  fly  an  hour  too  soon,  for  that  very  night 
a  band  of  forest  rangers  arrived  at  his  deserted  home, 
with  fire  and  axes,  and  after  totally  destroying  the 
peaceful  dwelling  under  pretence  that  it  stood  too 
near  the  haunts  of  the  king's  game,  they  sought  in 
vain  for  the  peaceful  inhabitants,  in  order  to  gratify 
the  hatred  of  the    young   tyrant,    who   had  obtained 


SONS  OF  THE  CONQUEROR.  161 

Trom  his  despot  father  license  to  avenge  his  mortified 
vanity  by  the  destruction  of  a  harmless  family.  The 
site  of  the  cottage,  and  its  useful  and  bowery  orchard, 
was  included  in  a  wider  sweep  of  ground,  and  tlie 
whole  added  to  the  New  Forest. 

But  few  years  had  passed  on  before  retributive 
judgments  fell  on  the  family  of  the  Conqueror  in  the 
very  scene  of  his  iniquity.  His  second  son,  Richard, 
whose  abilities  and  chivalric  qualities  had  caused  the 
greatest  hopes  to  be  formed  of  him,  who  was  the 
pride  of  his  father's  heart  and  the  delight  of  his 
eyes  —  Richard,  for  whose  brow  he  had  destined  the 
conquered  diadem  of  England,  was  gored  to  death  by 
an  infuriated  stag,  which  he  attacked  imprudently 
while  the  poor  animal  was  standing  at  bay  to  defend 
his  life.  Not  long  after  this  tragic  event,  the  young 
boy,  who  has  been  mentioned  in  this  tale  as  the  son 
of  Prince  Robert,  was  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse 
when  hunting  in  the  New  Forest.  These  were  the 
most  beloved  objects  of  the  Conqueror's  heart,  and 
these  he  saw  descend  into  untimely  graves  before  him. 

As  for  William  Rufus,  his  fate  is  more  generally 
known.  When  the  measure  of  his  crimes  was  full, 
the  Rea  King,  as  he  was  called  by  his  miserable  sub- 
jects, was  slain  in  the  same  New  Forest  by  an  arrow 
from  the  bow  of  his  favorite  knight.  Sir  Walter  Tyr- 
le..     He  was  killed  accidentally  by  the  srrow  that  waa 


162  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

shot  at  a  doe  glancing  against  the  branch  of  a  tree 
and  from  thence  it  rebounded  to  the  king's  bosom 
who  never  spoke  after  he  was  wounded  ;  but  perhaps 
the  dying  tyrant,  before  the  light  forever  left  his  eyes, 
might  recognise  the  old  yew  tree,  under  which  in  his 
turbulent  boyhood  he  had  met  the  Saxon  peasant  Eed- 
wald,  although  by  his  continued  despotic  encroach- 
ments, that  yew,  and  the  neighboring  cottage  site,  was 
now  in  the  heart  of  the  New  Forest. 


muisq  Sn^ge. 


A   STORr    OF    THK    TIMES    OF    HENRY    THE    E1311TH. 


On  the  south  side  of  the  ancient  passage  leading  from 
the  street  to  the  churchyard  of  St.  Nicholas,  was  for 
merly  situated,  the   commodious   house    of   Thomas 
Wolsey,  a  substantial   butcher   and   grazier,    of   the 
town  of  Ispwich,  in  the  sixteenth  century. 

This  Thomas  Wolsey  was  one  of  those  persons 
with  whom  the  acquisition  of  wealth  appears  to  be 
the  so.e  purpose  of  existence.  It  was  his  boast '  that 
he  had  thrice  trebled  the  patrimony  he  had  derived 
from  his  father,'  from  whom  he  had  inherited  his 
flourishing  business,   besides  some  personal  property. 

Acting  in  direct  contradiction  to  that  ip|Unction  of  the 
royal  psalmist,  '  If  riches  increase,  set  not  your  heart 
upon  them,'  his  very  soul  appeared  to  dwell  in  his 
money  bags,  his  well  attended  shamble?  or  the  pleas- 
ant lowland  pastures  where  the  numerous  flocks  and 
herds  grazed,  the  profits  on  which  he  calculated  would 
BO  materially  improve  his  store.     He  made  no  show 


164 


HISTORICAL  TALES. 


no  figure  among  his  fellow  townsmen  ;  never  exchan- 
ging his  long  blue  linen  gown,  leathern  girdle,  and 
coarse  brown  hose,  for  any  other  apparel,  except  on  a 
Sunday,  when  he  wore  a  plain  substantial  suit  of  sad 
colored  cloth,  garnished  with  silver  buttons,  and  the 
polished  steel  and  huge  sheath  knife,  which  he  usual- 
ly wore  at  his  side,  were  exchanged  for  a  silver  hiked 
dagger  and  an  antique  rosary  and  crucifix. 

Satisfied  with  the  conviction  that  he  was  one  of  the 
wealthiest  tradesmen  in  Ipswich,  he  saw  no  reason  for 
exciting  the  envy  of  the  poor  or  the  ill  will  of  the 
rich,  by  any  outward  demonstration  of  the  fact,  but 
continued  to  live  in  the  same  snug  plain  manner  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  his  early  days,  ma 
king  it  the  chief  desire  of  his  heart  that  his  only  son, 
Thomas,  should  tread  in  his  steps,  and  succeed  him 
in  his  prosperous  and  well  established  business,  with 
the  same  economical  habits  and  an  equally  laudable 
care  for  the  main  chance. 

The  maternal  pride  of  his  wife  Joan,  who  was  the 
descendant  of  a  family  that  could  boast  of  gentle  blood, 
prompted  the  secret  hope  that  the  ready  wit  and  stu- 
dious habits,  together  with  the  clerkly  skill  and  learn- 
ed lore  which  the  boy  had  already  acquired  at  the 
g;rammar  schoo.,  might  qualify  him  for  something  bet- 
ter than  the  greary  craft  of  a  butcher,  and  perhaps 
one  day  elevate  him  to  the  situation  of  port  reeve  or 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  165 

town  clerK.     Cut  for  the  boy  himself,  his  y.uthful  am- 
bition pointed  at  higher  marks  than  the  golden  specu 
Unions  of  trade,   or  the  attainment  of  lucrative  ofTicei 
and  civic  honors  in  his  native  town. 

From  the  first  moment  he  entered  the  grammar 
school,  and  took  his  place  on  the  lowest  seat  there,  he 
determined  to  occupy  the  highest,  and  to  this,  in  an 
almost  incredibly  brief  period  of  time,  he  had  rapidly 
ascended  ;  and,  though  only  just  entering  his  twelfth 
year,  he  was  now  the  head  boy  in  the  school,  and  in 
the  opinion  of  his  unlearned  father,  '  knew  more  than 
was  good  for  him.' 

As  soon,  indeed,  as  his  son  Thomas  had  learned  to 
write  a  'fair  clerkly  hand,  to  cast  accounts,  and  con- 
strue a  page  in  the  Breviary,'  he  considered  his  edu- 
cation complete,  and  was  desirous  of  saving  the  ex- 
pense of  keeping  him  longer  at  school;  but  here  he 
was  overruled  by  his  more  liberal  minded  wife,  Joan, 
who,  out  of  the  savings  of  her  own  privy  purse,  paid 
the  quarterly  sum  of  eight-pence  to  the  master  of  the 
school,  for  the  further  instruction  of  her  hopeful  boy 
Thomas,  whose  abilities  she  regarded  as  little  less 
than  miraculous.  Persons  better  qualified  than  the 
good  wife,  Joan  Wolsey,  to  judge  of  the  natural  ta\ 
ents  and  precocious  acquirements  of  her  son,  had  al- 
so spoken  in  high  terms  of  his  progress  in  the  learn- 
ed languages,  and   predicted    great    things    of    him 


166  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

These  were  personages  of  no  less  importance  than 
the  head  master  of  the  Ipswich  grammar  school,  and 
the  parish  priest  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  latter  of  whom 
was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  hospitable  messuage  of 
master  Thomas  Wolsey  the  elder,  on  the  ostensible 
business  of  chopping  Latin  with  young  Thomas,  and 
correcting  his  Greek  exercises  for  him ;  but  no  doubt 
the  spiced  tankards  of  flowing  ale,  and  the  smoking 
beef  steaks,  cut  from  the  very  choicest  part  of  the  ox, 
and  temptingly  cooked  by  the  well  skilled  hands  of 
that  accomplished  housewife,  Joan  Wolsey,  to  reward 
him  for  his  good  report  of  her  darling  boy's  proficien- 
cy, had  some  influence  in  drawing  father  Boniface 
thither  so  often. 

The  bishop  of  the  diocese  himself  had  condescen- 
ded to  bestow  unqualified  praise  on  the  graceful  and 
eloquent  manner  in  which,  when  he  visited  the  school, 
young  Wolsey  had  delivered  the  complimentary  Lat- 
'n  oration,  on  that  occasion.  The  good  natured  prel- 
ate had  even  condescended  to  pat  his  curly  head  on 
the  conclusion  of  the  address,  and  to  say,  '  Spoken 
like  a  cardinal,  my  little  man!' 

From  that  moment  young  Wolsey  had  made  up 
his  mind  as  to  his  future  destiny,  ft  was  to  no  pur- 
pose that  his  father  tried  the  alternate  eloquence  of 
entreaties,  reasoning,  promises,  and  threats,  to  detach 
him  from  his  engrossing  studies,  and  induce  him  to 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  167 

turn  his  attention  to  the  lucrative  business  of  a  butch- 
er and  grazier.  The  idea  of  such  servilely  earned 
pelf  was  revolting  to  the  excited  imagination  of  the 
youthful  student,  whose  mind  was  full  of  classic  im- 
agery, and  intent  on  the  attainment  of  academic  hon- 
ors, the  steps  by  which  he  projected  to  ascend  to  the 
more  elevated  objects  of  his  ambition. 

The  church  was,  in  those  days,  the  only  avenue 
through  which  talented  persons  of  obscure  birth  might 
hope  to  arrive  at  greatness,  and  young  Wolsey  re- 
plied to  all  his  father's  exordiums  urgmg  him  to  at- 
tend to  the  cattle  market,  the  slaughter  house,  or  the 
shambles,  by  announcing  his  intention  of  becoming 
an  ecclesiastic. 

The  flush  of  anger  with  which  this  unwelcome  dec- 
laration had  clouded  the  brow  of  the  elder  Wolsey 
was  perfectly  perceptible  when  he  returned  home  af- 
ter the  fatigues  of  the  day  to  take  his  evening  meal, 
which  his  wife,  Joan,  was  busily  engaged  in  prepar- 
ing for  him  over  the  fire  with  her  own  hands. 

'  I  knew  how  it  would  turn  out  all  along  of  your 
folly,  mistress,  in  keeping  the  boy  loitering  away  his 
time  and  learning  all  manner  of  evil  habits  at  the 
grammar  school,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  bound 
apprentice  to  me,  and  learning  our  honest  craft,  for  the 
fast    two    vears,    muttered   the   malcontent   butcher 


168  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

throwing  himself  into  his  large  arm  chai.',  lined  with 
sheepskins. 

'  What  a  coil  the  woman  keeps  up  with  her  frymg 
pan,'  continued  he  peevishly,  on  perceiving  that  the 
discreet  Joan  appeared  disposed  to  drown  the  ebulli- 
tions of  his  wrath  in  the  hissing  and  bubbling  of  the 
fat  in  her  pan,  as  she  artfully  redoubled  her  assiduity 
in  shaking  it  over  the  blazing  hearth. 

'  Why,  Joan,'  pursued  he,  '  one  cannot  hear  oneself 
speak  for  the  noise  you  make.' 

'  The  noise  is  all  of  your  own  making,  I  trow,  mas- 
ter,' replied  Joan,  continuing  to  stir  her  hissing  sput- 
tering pan  briskly  as  she  spoke. 

'  I  say,  leave  off  that  frizzling  with  the  fat  in  that 
odious  pan,'  vociferated  he. 

'  So  I  will,  master,  if  you    wish  to  have  burnt  col 
lops  for  your  supper  to-night,'  replied  Joan  meekly. 

'  I  don't  care  whether  I  have  any  supper  at  all,'  re- 
plied the  butcher  testily  ;  '  I  am  vexed,  mistress.' 

'  Good  lack  !  what  should  happen  to  vex  yeu,  mas 
ter  ? '  responded  his  wife.  '  I  am  sure  the  world  al- 
ways seems  to  wag  the  way  you'd  have  it  go ;  but 
losses  and  crosses  m  business  will  chance,  even  to  the 
most  prosperous,  at  times.  Is  one  of  your  fat  beasts 
iead  ?  ' 

'No!' 
Some  of  your  sheep  been  stolen  ? ' 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  163 

•No!» 

'  Mayhap  then,  some  customer,  who:\i  yc  i  have 
suffered  to  run  up  a  long  score,  is  either  dead  or 
bankrupt  ? ' 

'  Worse  than  that,  mistress.' 

'  I  prythee,  good  Thomas,  let  me  hear  the  truth  at 
once,'  exclaimed  the  startled  Joan,  upsetting  the  frying 
pan  into  the  fire  in  her  alarm.  '  The  misfortune 
must  be  great  that  hath  befallen  you,  if  it  be  reckon- 
ed by  you   worse  than  the  loss  of  money.' 

'  Why,  mistress,  do  not  you  reckon  the  perverse  in- 
clinations of  one's  own  flesh  and  blood  a  more  serious 
calamity  than  loss  of  substance  ?  ' 

'  Ay,  master ;  but  that  is  a  trial  we  have  never  had 
the  sorrow  of  knowing  since  our  only  son,  Thomas,  al- 
beit I  say  it  who  ought  not,  is  the  most  dutiful,  diligent, 
and  loving  lad,  that  ever  blessed  a  parent's  heart,'  said 
the  fond  mother,  melting  into  tears  of  tenderness  as 
she  spoke.  ^ 

'Hold  thy  peace,  dame,'  cried  the  indignant  hus- 
band, darting  a  look  of  angry  reproach  on  the  offen- 
ding youth,  who  had  been  comfortably  reposing  him- 
self on  an  oaken  settle  by  the  fire  side,  reading  Vir- 
gil's Eneid  by  the  light  of  the  blazing  embers,  during 
the  whole  of  the  discussion,  without  concerning  him 
self  about  any  thing,  save  to  pieserve  the  beloved  vo 


170  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

ume  from  being  sprayed  by  tbe  fat  which  the  frying 
pan,  in  falling,  had  scattered  in  all  directions.  '  That 
lad,  3n  whom  you  bestow  such  foolish  commendations,' 
pursued  old  Wolsey;  '  that  lad,  whatever  might  have 
been  his  former  virtuous  inclinations,  hath  now  disap 
pointed  all  my  hopes,  for  he  hath  turned  an  errant 
scape-grace,  and  refuseth  to  become  a  butcher,  though 
the  shambles  he  would  inherit  from  me  are  the  largest, 
the  most  commodious,  and  the  best  frequented  with 
ready-penny  customers,  of  any  on  the  market  hill. 
Moreover,  it  is  a  business  in  which  his  grandfather 
got  money,  and  I,  following  in  his  good  steps,  with 
still  better  success,  have  become  —  I  scorn  to  boast, 
but  the  truth  may  be  spoken  without  blame — one  of 
the  wealthiest  tradesmen  in  the  borough.' 

*  Then  the  less  need,  my  master,  of  enforcing  such 
a  clever  lad  as  our  Thomas  to  follow  a  craft  which  is 
so  unsuitable  for  a  scholar,'  observed  Joan. 

*  There,'  groaned  the  butcher,  '  was  the  folly  of  ma- 
king him  one,  which  hath  been  the  means  of  teaching 
him  to  slight  the  main  chance,  and  to  turn  his  head 
with  pagan  poesies  or  monkish  lore.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it,  mistress  Joan, — he  hath  had  the  audacity  to 
profess  his  desire  of  becoming  a  student  at  the  univer- 
Bity  of  Oxenford  ? ' 

Ar\d  why  should  he  not,  master  Wolsey,  sine?  he 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  171 

prom.seth  to  become   a   learned   clerk?'   asked    the 
proud  mother. 

'  To  what  purpose  should  he  go  thither? '  said  the 
father. 

'  Marry,  master,  to  increase  his  learning,  and  to  put 
him  in  the  way  of  becoming  a  great  man,'  responded 
mistress  Joan. 

'  A  great  man,  forsooth  ! '  echoed  her  husband  con- 
temptuously ;  '  who  ever  heard  of  a  butcher's  son  be- 
coming a  person  of  distinction  ?  ' 

'  I  have  heard.  Sir,'  said  young  Wolsey,  closing  his 
book  eagerly  ;  '  I  have  heard  of  a  destitute  swineherd 
becoming  a  pope.' 

'  Indeed  ! '  ejaculated  his  father  with  an  air  of  in- 
credulity. 

'  Yes,  Sir,  it  was  Nicholas  Brekespeare,  afterwards 
Pope  Adrian  the  Fourth,  the  only  Englishman  who 
ever  filled  the  papal  chair,  but  perhaps  not  the  last 
whom  learning,  combined  with  persevering  enterprise, 
may  conduct  to  that  eminence.' 

'  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! '  cried  the  butcher,  bursting  into  a 
loud  laugh ;  '  I  w^ist  not  of  the  high  mark  at  which 
your  ambition  ainieth,  son  Thomas !  Well,  if  ena- 
bling you  to  become  a  servitor  in  Magdalen  College 
will  advance  your  holiness  one  step  towards  the  pos- 
session of  St.  Peter's  keys,  I  will  not  withhold  my  as" 
sistance  a>ad  my  blessing,  though  much  I  doubt  wheth- 


172  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

er  it  will  carry  thee  into  the  Vatican,  or  whatever  yon 
call  it,  of  which  you  and  father  Boniface  are  always 
talking.' 

'  And  what  if  it  do  not  carry  him  quite  so  far,  mas- 
ter,' interposed  Joan,  '  didst  thou  never  hear  of  vhe 
proverb,  He  who  reacheth  after  a  gown  of  cloth  ol 
gold  shall  scarcely  fail  of  getting  one  of  the  sleeves  ? ' 

'  Ay,  mother  ! '  cried  young  Wolsey  ;  '  and  when 
I  am  a  cardinal,  my  father  will  thank  you  for  the  par- 
able.' 

'  Ah  I  if  I  ever  live  to  see  that  day,  son  Thomas ! ' 
observed  the  butcher. 

'  Why  should  you  doubt  it,  master  ? '  asked  mistress 
Joan. 

'  Because,  wife,  it  is  easy  to  talk  of  dignities  and 
honors,  but  to  obtain  them  would  be  attended  with  dif- 
ficulties, which  I  doubt  our  simple  son,  Thomas,  will 
find  insurmountable.' 

'  I  shall,  at  least,  lose  nothing  in  making  the  at- 
tempt,' observed  young  Wolsey. 

'  There  is  your  mistake,  boy ;  you  will  lose  some- 
thing very  considerable,'  replied  his  father. 

'  Dear  father,  what  can  that  be  for  which  the  learn- 
ing I  shall  acquire  will  not  make  me  ample  amends?' 

'The  most  flourishing  butchery  in  Ipswich,  simple- 
ton !  which,  if  once  lost  through  your  inconsiderate 
fol^y,  you  may  study  till  doomsday,  and  acquire  all 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  173 

fhe  learning  in  popedom  and  heathenesse  into  the  oar 
gain,  without  being  able  to  reestablish  it  in  its  presen' 
prosperity,'  returned  the  mortified  father  with  a  groan. 
A  smile,  which  the  younger  VVolsey  strove  in  vain 
to  repress,  played  over  his   features  at  these   words. 

*  Ay,  scorn  and  slight  the  substantial  good  that  is 
within  your  reach  for  the  sake  of  the  vain  shadow 
which  is  beyond  your  power  to  obtain,  Thomas  Wol- 
eey,'  said  his  father  with  great  bitterness. 

'  My  dear  father,  you  know  little  of  the  powers  of 
the  human  mind,  or  of  the  mighty  things  which  its 
energies,  when  once  roused,  and  directed  towards  one 
object,  may  effect.' 

'I  tell  you,  Thomas,  that  the  end  which  you  pro- 
pose is  impossible.^ 

'  Sir,'  replied  young  "VVolsey,  '  I  have  blotted  that 
word  out  of  MY  dictionary.' 

'  I  like  your  spirit,  young  man,'  said  his  father,  '  al- 
beit, it  savoreth  a  little  of  presumption.' 

'  That  remains  to  be  proved,'  said  his  son,  '  and  1 
am  quite  ready  that  my  earnestness  should  be  tried 
by  any  test  you  may  be  inclined  to  demand.' 

•  I  shall  hold  you  to  your  word,'  replied  his  father, 
and  condition,  that  if  you  take  up  your  bachelor's  de- 
gree within   four   years    of  your  entering    Magdalen 
College,  then  shall  you   proceed  in  the  course  of  Ufa 


174  HISTCRICAL    TALES. 

on  whicn  you  are  so  determinately  bent;  6ul  if  you 
fail  in  doing  this,  then  shall  you  return  to  my  house, 
and  submit  your  future  destiny  to  my  disposal,' 

'  If  I  take  it  not  up  within  two  years  of  my  enter- 
ing the  college,  barring  accidents  of  sickness  or  death, 
then  strip  me  of  the  learned  stole  of  a  clerk  of  Oxen- 
ford,  and  chain  me  to  your  girdle  as  a  butcher's  slave 
for  life,'  replied  the  youth  with  a  heightened  color. 

'  Thou  hast  pledged  thyself  to  that  which  thou 
canst  not  perform,  son  Thomas,'  replied  his  father. 
'  Who  ever  heard  of  a  boy  of  fourteen  taking  up  a 
bachelor's  degree  at  Oxenford  ? ' 

'  Thou  shall  hear  of  one,  anon,  mine  honored  fa- 
ther,' said  young  Wolsey. 

*  I  will  engage  that  thy  mother  shall  have  the  finest 
baron  of  beef  in  my  shambles  to  roast  for  dinner  on 
the  day  on  which  I  hear  that  news,'  rejoined  his  father.' 

'  See  that  you  keep  my  father  to  his  promise,  moth- 
er,' said  the  youth,  '  for  I  shall  travel  night  and  day, 
in  hopes  of  being  the  first  to  communicate  the  intelli- 
gence, or  at  any  rate,  to  arrive  in  time  to  come  in  for 
a  slice  of  the  beef  while  it  be  hot.' 

The  important  object  being  now  accomplished  ol 
obtaining  the  consent  of  the  elder  Wolsey  to  his  son's 
entering  the  university  of  Oxfoi'd,  the  lad  commenced 
his  journey  on  the  following  day  for  that  ancient  seaV 
■if  learning.     He  was  on  foot,  foi  the  sturdy  butcher 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  175 

his  father,  though  well  able  to  send  him  thither  on  a 
stout  pack-horse,  attended  by  one  of  hi.5  own  men, 
was  determined  to  afford  no  facilities  for  an  enter- 
prise to  which  he  had  so  little  relish. 

The  loving  care  of  mistress  Joan  Wolsey  had  sup- 
plied the  youthful  candidate  for  scarlet  stockings  and 
cardinal's  hat  with  a  few  silver  groats  for  his  expen- 
ses on  the  road,  and  a  needful  stock  of  linen  and  oth- 
er necessaries,  which  the  carried  in  a  leathern  wallet 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  end  of  a  stout  oaken  staff; 
but  that  which  young  Wolsey  considered  more  pre- 
cious than  either  money  or  apparel,  was  a  letter  of 
recommendation  from  the  head  master  of  the  Ipswich 
grammar  school  to   the  master  of  Magdalen  College. 

This  credential  obtained  for  its  lonely  and  friend- 
less bearer  that  attention  which  his  juvenile  appear- 
ance, diminutive  stature,  and  his  coarse  and  travel- 
soiled  attire,  would  most  probably  have  failed  of  at- 
tracting. 

Having  passed  his  examination  with  great  credit  tc 
himself,  he  was  admitted  as  a  servitor  of  Magdalen 
College.  In  this  novel  situation  young  Wolsey  had 
some  difficulties,  and  not  a  few  hardships  and  priva- 
tions to  contend  with  ;  but  these,  when  weighed  a- 
gainst  the  mighty  object  which  engrossed  all  his 
thoughts,  were  as  dust  in  the  balance,  and  the  only  ef- 
fect they  had  was  to  increase  his  persevering  4iU« 


176  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

gence.  At  the  end  of  the  first  term  he  had  made  a 
progress  which  astonished  his  masters  and  fellow  stu- 
dents. Before  the  two  years  had  expired,  within 
which  the  lad  had  pledged  himself  to  take  up  a  de- 
gree, an  attempt  which  his  father,  with  reason,  judged 
unattainable  by  a  person  of  his  tender  age,  the  good- 
wife  Joan  Wolsey,  in  great  haste,  entered  the  sham 
bles,  where  her  husband  was  preparing  to  put  an  un- 
commonly fine  baron  of  beef  into  the  basket  of  a  no- 
bleman's servant,  and  laying  hands  upon  it,  exclaimed, 
,  Why,  Thomas  Wolsey,  what  are  you  about  to  do 
with  that  meat?' 

'  To  send  it  to  the  house  of  my  lord,  according  to 
order,  to  be  sure,  mistress,'  replied  the  butcher,  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 

'  An  it  had  been  ordered  by  King  Henry  himself, 
he  should  not  have  it  to-day,'  said  mistress  Joan. 

'  Is  your  wife  delirit,  master  Wolsey  ?  '  asked  the 
servant. 

*  One  would  suppose  so  by  her  wild  words,'  said 
the  astonished  butcher,  who  knew  not  what  to  think 
of  the  behavior  of  his  usually  discreet  spouse. 

'  If  I  be,  master,  it  is  with  joy,'  replied  Joan  Wol 
sey ;  '  but  the  truth  is,  I  came  hither  to  claim  the  fi- 
nest baron  of  beef  in  the  shambles,  which  you  said  I 
phcu.d  roast  for   dinner  on  the   day  on  which    vou 


WOLSET?    BRIDGE.  177 

heard  the  news  of  our  son,  Thomas  Wolsey,  taking 
up  a  bachelor's  degree  at  Oxenford.' 

'  And  who  brought  you  the  intelligence,  mistress?' 
demanded  her  husband. 

'  A  joyful  messenger,  my  good  man,  for  it  was  the 
boy  himself,  (blessings  on  him !)  dressed  in  his  bach- 
elor's gown,  and  bearing  the  certificate  of  his  admis- 
sion as  a  fellow  of  Magdalen  College.' 

♦  Humphrey  ! '  cried  the  delighted  father,  turning  to 
his  head  man,  '  take  that  baron  of  beef  home  to  my 
house,  and  help  thy  mistress  to  spit  it,  and  put  it  down 
to  the  fire,  that  my  boy  bachelor  may  dine  off  the  best 
joint  in  my  shambles  ;  and  do  you,  master  Ralph,' 
added  he,  turning  to  his  lordship's  servant,  '  make  my 
duty  to  my  lord,  and  ask  him,  if  he  will  be  pleased  to 
put  up  with  rump  or  ribs  to-day,  since  the  baron  of 
beef,  for  which  his  housekeeper  hath  sent,  was  bespo- 
ken nearly  two  years  before  his  order  came,  and  my 
good  dame  hath  come  to  claim  my  pledge  in  earnest.' 

'  Which  my  lord  is  too  strict  an  observer  of  his  own 

word  to  wish  you  to  forfeit  on  his  account,  I  am  sure, 

master  Wolsey,'  said  Ralph  ;  '  and   when    I  explain 

the  pleasant    cause    for   which   you   have  made  bold 

to  disappoint  his  lordship  of  his  favorite  dish  to-day. 

he,  who  is  himself  a  scholar  and  a  patron  of  learning 

withal,  will  hold  you  excused.' 

This  day  being  a  holiday,  the  head  master  of  the 
]6 


178  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Ipswich  grammar  school,  several  of  ytung  Wolsey's 
chosen  friends  among  the  scholars,  ond  the  good-hu- 
mored curate  of  St.  Nicholas,  were  invited  to  partake 
of  the  baron  of  beef  whicb  the  young  bachelor  had  so 
honorably  earned,  and  which  mistress  Joan  Wolsey 
cooked  in  her  most  approved  style,  to  the  great  satis- 
faction of  her  husband  and  the  guests. 

This  was  one  of  the  long  vacations,  but  no  season 
of  idleness  to  young  Wolsey,  whose  unremitting  ap- 
plication to  study  impaired  his  appetite,  and  rendered 
him  languid  and  feverish,  which  his  anxious  mother 
perceiving,  and  feeling  some  alarm  lest  his  incessant 
mental  toil  might  injure  his  naturally  feeble  constitu- 
tion, she  communicated  her  uneasiness  to  her  husband, 
and  asked  him  if  he  could  not  contrive  some  little 
pleasant  employment  for  him,  which  would  have  the 
effect  of  diverting  him  for  a  few  days  from  his  seden- 
tary occupations. 

'  Ay,  ay,  dame,'  replied  old  Wolsey,  '  I  have  a 
choice  bit  of  pastime  for  the  boy ;  he  shall  go  with 
Humphrey  and  Peter  and  Miles  to  buy  beeves  off  the 
Southwold  and  Reydon  commons  and  marshes.' 

'  That  would  do  well  enough,  master,  if  the  lad 
were  any  judge  of  cattle,  which  I  fear,  with  all  his 
college  learning,  he  is  not,'  responded  mistress  Joan 

'  You  may  well  say  that,  mistress,'  rejoined  the 
butcher,  '  for  though    .\ie   hath  been  born,   bred,   and 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  179 

nourished  in  the  midst  of  such  matters,  and  he  is  ob 
servant  enough  in  other  things,  j-et  I  would  answer 
for  it,  he  know-eth  not  the  ditTerence  between  a  fat 
beast  and  a  lean  one,  a  Scot  or  a  home-bred,  yea 
scarcely  between  a  long  horn  or  a  short ;  and  were  1 
to  send  him  on  this  busmess  of  mine  without  ray 
shrewd  foreman,  Humphrey,  to  instruct  his  ignorance 
and  detect  the  knavery  of  the  sellers,  he  would  bring 
me  home  pretty  bargains  of  beasts  against  the  Eas- 
ter festivals.  Why  these  fat  monks  of  Keydon,  who 
are  far  better  skilled  in  grazing  for  the  Ipswich  and 
Yarmouth  markets  than  in  their  church  Latin,  would 
be  sure  to  palm  their  old  worn-out  mortuary  cows  up- 
on him  for  fine  young  heifers,  and  make  him  pay  the 
price  of  three-year-old  steers,  for  their  broken-down 
yoke  oxen  that  had  ploughed  the  convent  lands  for  the 
last  ten  years.  But,  as  I  said  before,  Humphrey  shall 
go  with  him,  who  is  used  to  their  tricks  of  old,  and 
will  bid  them  half  their  asking  price  at  a  word,  which 
our  Thomas  would  be  ashamed  of  doing  to  men  of 
their  cloth  were  he  left  to  himself,  so  he  shall  only 
have  the  pleasant  part  of  the  business,  to  wit,  listen- 
ing to  the  chaffering,  and  paying  down  the  money 
when  the  price  is  agreed  upon  by  those  who  are  wi- 
Ber  in  such  matters  than  himself.' 

'  And  how  do   you  propose  for  him  to  perform   '.he 


180 


HISTORICAL  TALES. 


journey,  master,  for  the  places  whereof  you  speak  3r« 
many  miles   distant  ? '  said  Joan. 

'  Under  forty  miles,  wife,  which  will  be  no  great 
stretch  for  Miles  and  Peter  (who  are  to  drive  the  cat- 
tle) to  walk ;  as  for  Thomas,  he  shall  ride  my  grey 
mare,  and  Humphrey  can  take  the  black  nag,  and  give 
Miles  and  Peter  a  lift  behind  him  by  turns,  which  will 
ease  their  legs,  and  make  it  a  pleasant  journey  for 
them  all.  Ah  I  that  part  of  Suffolk  is  a  fine  grazing 
country  to  travel  through,  I  am  sure  I  shall  envy 
Thomas  the  prospect  of  so  many  herds  and  flocks  aa 
he  will  see  on  those  upland  meads  and  salt  marshes ; 
Dut  he  will  think  more  of  chopping  Latin  with  the 
monks  of  Blitheborough,  and  looking  over  their  old 
musty  books  and  records,  which  could  never  give  a 
hungry  man  his  dinner,  than  of  all  the  sensible  sights 
he  might  see  by  the  way.' 

'Every  one  to  his  vocation,  master,' replied  Joan 
Wolsey  ;  '  yours  is  to  feed  the  bodies,  and  my  Thom- 
as's will  be  to  nourish  the  minds  of  men  with  a  more 
enduring  food  than  that  which  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  provide.' 

'  Gramercy,  mistress ! '  said  the  butcher,  with  a 
grin  ;  '  one  would  think  he  had  been  feasting  you  on 
some  of  his  improving  diet,  for  you  begin  to  discourse 
nke  a  doctor.' 

The  next  day,  by  peep  of  dawn,  the  quartette  sei 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  18J 

forth  from  St.  Nicholas's  passage  on  their  expedition 
on  which  no  one  reckoned  more  than  young  Wolsey 
who,  wearing  his  college  cap  and  gown,  the  latter  ci 
which  was  tucked  up  round  his  waist,  lest  its  long  full 
skirts  should  impede  his  horsemanship,  was  mounted 
on  his  father's  easy-pacing  grey  mare.  For  the  con- 
venience of  riding  he  was. accommodated  with  a  pair 
of  the  old  man's  boots,  which  drew  up  far  above  his 
knees,  and  were  wide  enough  to  admit  three  pair  ot 
legs  like  the  stripling's  slender  limbs.  He  rode  cau- 
tiously at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade,  taking  care  to 
keep  close  to  Humphrey,  who  jogged  along  very  com- 
fortably on  the  black  nag,  whose  mettle,  if  ever  it  had 
possessed  any,  was  tamed  by  the  wear  and  tear  of 
fifteen  years  of  service  in  the  butcher's  cart. 

Miles  and  Peter  trudged  steadily  along  with  their 
quarter  staffs  in  their  hands,  relying  on  their  own  ex- 
cellent pedestrianism  to  reach  the  ultimate  place  of 
their  destination  almost  as  soon  as  the  horsemen  ot 
the  party,  whose  steeds  they  knew  would  be  sorely 
jaded  before  they  reached  St.  Peter's,  Wangford, 
where  their  master  had  directed  them  to  crave  lodging 
for  the  night  of  the  monks  of  Clu^ni.  who  there  oc- 
cupied  a  cell  dependent  on  the  monastery  of  Thelford, 
which  also  was  the  parent  house  of  the  cell  atRej^don. 

The  tw:  saucy  knaves  occasionally  exchanged  sly 


182  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

glances,  and  cracked  drj  jokes  on  the  unsuitable  array 
and  cautious  riding  of  the  young  Oxford  student, 
their  master's  son,  and  the  steady  jog-trot  of  Ham- 
phrey,  who  rode  quite  at  his  ease  on  a  soft  sheepskin, 
which  supplied  the  place  of  a  saddle  by  being  tightly 
buckled  with  a  broad  leathern  strap  under  the  belly  of 
the  black  nag,  whose  quiet  temper  allowed  her  to  be 
ridden  safely   without  the  aid  of  stirrups. 

The  sun  rose  brightly  in  a  soft  April  sky  by  the 
time  they  reached  Woodbridge.  Young  Wolsey  had 
now  become  familiar  with  the  paces  of  the  grey  mare 
and  the  excitement  of  the  exercise,  the  beauty  of  the 
morning,  the  invigorating  freshness  of  the  air,  and 
lovely  succession  of  new  and  agreeable  objects,  contrib- 
uting to  raise  his  spirits,  he  soon  began  to  assume  a  little 
more  of  the  cavalier,  and  occasionally  used  the  whip 
and  the  spurs,  in  defiance  of  all  Humphrey's  pruden- 
tial cautions.  Nature  had  well  qualified  the  youthful 
student,  both  in  form  and  agility,  to  play  the  graceful 
horseman,  and  before  they  arrived  at  Wickham  Mar- 
ket, the  skill  and  boldness  with  which  he  managed 
his  steed  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  the  whole  party 

At  this  little  town  they  stopped,  and  refreshed  both 
men  and  beasts  with  a  substantial  breakfast,  and  then 
set  forward  on  their  journey  with  renewed  spirits. 
Young  Wols3y,  who  had  a  purpose  of  his  own  to  an- 
swer, put  hi?  father'?  mare  to  her  speed,  and  soon  left 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  183 

the  pedestnan  Peter,  and  the  hapless  rag  v/ith  its 
double  burden,  of  Humphrey  and  Miles,  far  in  the 
rear,  regardless  of  their  shouts  of'  Fair  play,  maste' 
Thomas  !  fair  play  !  '  and  '  Alack,  alack,  sir,  have  a 
care  of  master's  mare  !  ' 

But  the  stripling,  who  liked  not  the  repeated  hints 
which  Humphrey  had  given  him  of  the  propriety  and 
expediency,  to  say  nothing  of  the  kindness,  of  giving 
poor  Peter  a  lift  behind  him,  now  they  were  clear  of 
the  houses,  was  determined  to  ride  forward,  not  wish- 
ing the  bachelor's  cap  and  gown  to  appear  in  such 
close  fellowship  with  the  butcher's  blue  and  greasy 
buff  of  his  father's  men.  Besides,  he  greatly  desired, 
instead  of  keeping  the  jog-trot  pace  that  suited  their 
convenience,  to  gain  an  hour  or  two  to  spend  with  the 
monks  of  the  Holyrood  at  Blitheborough,  and  to  ex- 
amine the  antiquities,  architecture,  and  localities  of 
that  ancient  and  interesting  place,  through  which  the 
route  chalked  out  for  him  by  his  father  lay ;  but  the 
elder  Wolsey  had  strictly  charged  Humphrey  in  his 
hearing,  '  not  to  permit  his  young  master  to  delay 
their  journey,  by  wasting  his  time  and  theirs  in  pra- 
ting Latin  gibberish  with  the  black  locusts  of  Blithe- 
borough,'  (as  he  irreverently  styled  those  worthy  an- 
chorites), '  especially  a;?  he  did  not  want  to  deal  with 
them  for  sheep,  the  last  he  had  bought  off  their  walks 
having  proved  a  poor  bargain.' 


184  HISTORICAL    TALf.ri. 

Now  young  Wolsey,  when  he  heard  tliis  t,aiition, 
secretly  resolved  to  arrange  matters  so  as  to  enjoy  the 
conference  with  the  monkt  without  either  infringing 
his  father's  directions,  or  being  pestered  with  the  com- 
pany of  his  blue-frocked  retainers.  So,  without  al- 
lowing himself  time  to  observe  the  pastoral  Benhall 
Kelsale,  or  the  picturesque  village  of  Yoxford,  which 
was  then,  as  now,  one  of  the  prettiest  in  SufTolk,  or 
even  pausing  to  bestow  more  than  the  tribute  of  a 
passing  glance  of  interest  on  Cockfield's  Gothic  Hall, 
at  that  period  newly  built,  and  rising  proudly  from  its 
embowering  woods,  he  pressed  his  mare  on, and  though, 
as  well  as  Ker,  sorely  wearied  with  the  unwonted 
number  of  miles  he  had  traversed,  his  youthful  spirits 
carried  him  forward  with  unabated  energy,  till,  on  de- 
scending the  last  hill  after  crossing  the  extensive 
track  of  purple  heath,  known  by  the  name  of  Blithe- 
borough  Sheep  walks,  that  most  stately  structure,  the 
church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  rose  before  him,  not  ir. 
the  dilapidated  grandeur  which  even  now  strikes  tht 
eye  of  the  eastern  traveller  with  astonishment  and  de- 
light, as,  grey  with  the  mantling  lichens,  and  crumb- 
ling with  the  neglect  and  injuries  of  revolving  centu- 
ries, it  bursts  upon  his  view,  amidst  surrounding  des- 
olation, but  in  all  the  magnificence  of  the  monastic 
ages  of  its  glory,  in  the  elaborate  richness  of  the  flo- 
rid gothic  architecture,  untouched  by  time  and  unim* 


WOLSEY   BRIDGE.  185 

paired  by  accident,  with  the  bright  sur  beams  playing 
^nd  flashing  on  the  many-colored  stains  of  its  wide 
and  lofty  windows. 

Young  Wolsey  checked  his  horse,  and  gazed  upon 
this  noble  edifice  with  the  enthusiasm  natural  to  the 
future  founder  of  colleges  and  gothic  buildings  ;  then 
slowly,  and  looking  often  backwards,  he  proceeded  to 
the  cell  and  chapel  of  the  Holy-Rood,  which  indeed 
was  so  contiguous  to  the  spot  that  he  was  able  still  to 
enjoy  a  close  view  of  the  new  church,  as  it  was  then 
called,  while  he  partook  of  the  good  cheer  which  the 
hospitable  fraternitj^  produced  for  his  refreshment,  and 
to  which  the  hungry  stripling  did  ample  justice.  As 
the  bells  were  chiming  for  vespers,  monastic  etiquette 
compelled  him  to  accompany  the  monks  to  their  pret- 
ty chapel,  for  which  building  the  traveller  would  now 
look  in  vain,  as  its  only  relics  are  the  crumbling  group 
of  broken  gray  arches,  so  thickly  mantled  with  ivy 
and  crowned  with  wild  flowers,  that  form  such  an  in- 
teresting feature  in  the  landscape  of  the  desolated  vil- 
lage of  Blitheburgh.  When  the  evening  service  was 
concluded,  the  friendly  monks  gratified  their  visitor 
with  an  anterior  view  uf  the  church  of  the  Holy  Trin- 
ity, and  pointed  out  to  him  its  rich  carvings,  screens, 
trellises,  and  magnificently  sculptured  and  emblazoned 
roof^  not  forgetting  to  call  his  attention  tc  the  antique 
17 


186  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

tombs  which,  as  tradition  reports,  once  covered  the 
mortal  remains  of  Annas,  king  of  the  East  Angles, 
and  Ferminius,  his  son,  who  were  slain  in  a  bloody 
battle  with  Penda,  the  pagan  king  of  Mercia,  which 
was  fought  in  the  adjacent  marshes  of  Bulcamp,  or 
BalJkemp.  From  the  leads  over  the  south  aisle,  they 
made  him  observe  the  fine  sea  view  of  Southwold, 
Walberswick,  and  the  city  of  Dunwich,  well  known 
to  him  in  ecclesiastic  history  as  the  ancient  metropol- 
itan city  of  the  kingdom  of  the  East  Angles,  where 
Saxon  monarchs  kept  court  in  the  olden  time,  and  the 
bishop  of  the  two  counties  held  his  see,  till  the  resist- 
less waves  of  the  German  Ocean  committed  such  rav. 
ages  as  compelled  the  diocesan  to  remove  his  episco- 
pal see  to  Thetford,  and  afterwards  buried  that  time- 
honored  seat  of  learning  and  royalty  (Dunwich),  with 
its  walls,  and  brazen  gates,  its  fifty-two  churches  and 
religious  houses,  together  with  its  numerous  streets 
and  public  buildings,  beneath  its  raging  waters. 

With  a  sigh  the  young  student  turned  from  the 
contemplation  of  the  melancholy  wreck  of  ancient 
splendor,  which  the  fallen  city  of  the  East  Anglians 
presented  even  in  the  sixteenth  century,  when  several 
churches  and  numerous  vestiges  of  its  former  great- 
ness still  survived  the  s\orms  of  ages,  and  the  assaults 
of  the  hungry  waves ;  but  what  would  he  have 
thought  had  he  seen  it  as  it  now  is,  reduced  to  a  few 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE  187 

ruinous  fishermen's  huts,  and  of  aL  its  churches  and 
religious  houses,  retaining  only  the  roofless  shell  ol 
one,  in  which  divine  service  is  no  longer  performed! 
Doubtless  he  would  have  applied  the  words  of  the  la- 
mentation pronounced  by  the  prophet  over  the  desola- 
tion of  Tyre  :  '  Is  this  your  joyous  city,  whose  anti- 
quity is  of  ancient  date  ?  Who  hath  taken  this  coun- 
sel against  Tyre,  the  crowning  city,  whose  mer:hants 
are  princes,  whose  traffickers  are  the  honorable  of  the 
earth  ? ' 

Young  Wolsey  had  been  too  deeply  engaged  in  the 
contemplation  of  these  interesting  localities  to  em- 
brace the  opportunity  of  displaying  his  own  learning 
to  the  friendly  monks,  who  had  treated  him  with  the 
respect  which  his  natural  talents  and  early  acquire- 
ments were  well  calculated  to  inspire,  and  pressingly 
invited  him  to  sojourn  with  them  durmg  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  and  pass  the  night  in  their  dormitory ; 
but  the  importunities  of  Humphrey  (who,  with  Peter 
and  Miles,  had  arrived  while  he  was  at  vespers,  and 
having  refreshed  themselves  and  the  black  nag,  were 
now  clamorous  to  proceed)  prevailing  over  his  desire 
of  accepting  an  invitation  so  agreeable  to  his  own  in- 
clinations, he  took  a  loving  farewell  of  the  hospitable 
fraternity,  promising  to  find  some  way  of  gratifying 
his  wish  of  passing  a  few  hours  with  them  on  his  re- 
turn.    Then  mounting  the   grey  mare,  he  rode  for 


188  HISTORICAL    TALES, 

ward  at  a  gentle  pace  with  h:s  weary  and  somewha 
malcontent  companions,  who  scrupled  not  to  reproach 
him  for  the  want  of  good  fellowship  he  had  displayed 
in  deserting  their  company.     Nor  did  Humphrey  fail 
to  exert  the  privilege  of  an  old  and  trusted  servant,  by 
rating  his  young  master  soundly  for  having  overheat- 
ed the  grey  mare  on  a  long  journey,  besides  incurring 
much  peril  of  accidents  both  to  himself  and  that  val 
uable   animal,  on   account  of  his   being  an  inexperi- 
enced rider,  and  quite  unacquainted  with  the  road 
The  young  student,  who  was  of  course  rather  impa- 
tient of  these   rebukes,  which  he  considered  very  de- 
rogatory to  the  dignity  of  a  bachelor  of  Oxford  to  re- 
ceive from  butchers  and  cattle  drovers,  endeavored  to 
escape  from  them  by  a  repetition  of  his  offence,  name- 
ly, outriding  the  party ;  but  that  was  no  longer  in  his 
power,  for  he  had  fairly  knocked  up  the  grey  mare  so 
that  she  was  unable  to  compete  with  the  shaggy  nag 
on  which  Humphrey  rode,  and   the  only  alternative 
left  him  was   to  listen  meekly,  or  to  turn  a  deaf  ear, 
to  the  reproaches  that  assailed  him  right  and  left,  and 
amuse  himself  with  his  own  reflections,  or  in  contem- 
plating the  charms  of  the  varied  landscape  before  him, 
when,    on    ascending    the    gentle    hill  leading   from 
Blitheburgh,  he  found  himself  among  the  rich  woods 
and  cowslipped  meads  of  Henham,  whose  castellated 
hall   thon  the  rt^sidence  of  the  Brandons,  rose  in  aU 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  189 

its  gothic  giandeur  over  grove  and  vale,  as  the  crown- 
ing object  of  the  prospect,  but  was  soon  after  hidden 
behind  the  intervening  screen  of  deep  embowering 
shades,  which  were  then  almost  impervious  to  the  light 
of  day,  and  converted  the  advancing  gloom  of  eve- 
ning into  early  night.  No  sooner  was  the  party  in- 
volved in  this  obscurity,  than  the  offended  trio,  Hum- 
phrey, Miles,  and  Peter,  united  their  voices  in  a  uni- 
versal chorus  of  grumbling  at  their  detention  at 
Blitheburgh,  declaring  they  were  benighted,  and 
should  in  all  probability  be  robbed  of  the  sum  entrus- 
ted to  them  for  the  the  purchase  of  the  cattle. 

The  welcome  sound  of  the  curfew  bell  of  St.  Pe- 
ter's, Wangford,  however,  soon  informed  them  that 
their  apprehensions  were  groundless,  and  put  them  in- 
to better  humor,  by  advertising  them  that  they  were 
not  more  than  a  mile  distant  from  the  place  of  their 
destination  ;  and  presently,  after  emerging  from  be- 
neath the  sombre  shadows  of  Henham's  oaken  glades, 
they  found  themselves  once  more  in  daylight,  and  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  pretty  village  of  Wang- 
ford,  which,  with  its  picturesque  monastery  and  chap- 
el of  St.  Peters,  crowning  a  gentle  eminence,  lay  full 
before  them. 

The  pastoral  rivulet  of  the  Wang,  from  which  the 
name  of  this  haml?t  is  derived,  was  soon  forded  by 
the  weary  travellers,  who,  proceeding  to  the  little  con* 


190 


HISTORICAL    TALES. 


vent,  obtained  without  difficulty  food  and  shelter  foi 
the  night.  The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  matins  were 
over,  which  service  they  of  course  considered  them 
selves  bound  to  attend,  they  set  forward  on  their  short 
journey  to  the  neighboring  monastery  of  Reydon, 
which,  as  I  said  before,  was  a  detached  branch  of  the 
cell  of  St.  Peter's,  both  dependencies  on  the  monas- 
tery of  Thetford. 

Leaving  its  green  bowery  labyrinth  of  sylvan  lanes, 
its  antique  hall  and  park,  its  aboriginal  forest  and  the 
grey  spire  of  its  venerable  church,  and  all  that  was 
pleasing  and  attractive  in  the  landscape  of  the  Rey- 
don, or  the  red  hill  (which  its  Saxon  name  signifies), 
to  the  left,  Humphrey  guided  the  party  through  a 
narrow,  wet,  and  incommodious  road,  to  a  mean  con- 
ventual building,  situated  at  the  most  desolate  extiem- 
ity  of  the  parish,  among  the  salt  marshes. 

If  Wolsey  had  expected  to  find  learning,  piety,  or 
hospitality  among  this  fraternity,  he  was  certainly 
much  disappointed ;  for  a  set  of  more  illiterate  and 
narrow-minded  men,  than  these  Reydon  monks,  were 
never  congregated  together.  Far  from  expressing  the 
least  interest  in  the  acquirements  of  their  accomplish- 
ed young  guest,  they  received  the  intelligence  of  his 
proficiency  in  the  learned  languages  with  dismay,  and 
appeared  far  beUer  pleased  with  the  conversation  of 
Humphrey,  Peter,  and  Miles,  which  irdeed  was  more 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  191 

in  unison  with  their  tastes  han  that  af  the  scholastic 
VVolsey,  ,vhom  they  entertained  vvilh  long  disserta- 
tions, not  on  the  fathers  or  ths  classics,  but  on  the 
most  profitable  breeds  of  cattle,  and  the  most  approved 
mode  oJ  latting  swme,  in  all  which  matters  they  were 
very  fluent,  and  appeared  to  consider  it  passing 
strange  that  a  butcher's  son  possessed  so  little  knowl- 
edge on  such  interesting  topics.  They  also  discussed 
the  best  methods  of  curing  white  bacon,  as  the  fat  of 
pickled  pork  is  called  in  that  part  of  Suflblk.  On 
ihis  delectable  article  Wolsey  and  his  party  had  the 
felicity  of  supping  ihr^t  evening,  which  he  afterwards 
declared  was  the  dullest  h?  ~"er  spent  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 

The  next  morning,  though  the  bells  chimed  for 
r^'itins,  the  monks  made  no  movement  to  enter  the 
chapei,  as  their  matin  service  was  confined  to  that 
".eremony ;  and  wheu  Wolsey  expressed  his  surprise 
at  such  unorthodox  neglect  of  the  prescribed  offices 
of  holy  church,  they  replied  '  that  it  was  neither  a 
sabbath  nt'r  a  festival,  and  their  swine  must  be  aiten- 

1P(\    to.' 

When  this  interesting  duty  had  been  zealously  per- 
formed by  the  fraternity,  they  proceeded  with  their 
g-uests  to  the  marshes  where  their  cattle  fed  wherp  3 
long  and  animated  discussion  took  place  between 
Humphrey  ind  the  superior  of  the  convent  respecting 


192  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

jie  price,  the  merits,  and  defects  of  the  beasts  which 
Humphrey  deemed  most  worthy  of  his  attention,  in 
which  so  much  time  was  wasted  that  the  dinner  bell 
rang  before  they  had  settled  the  price  of  so  much  as 
one  bullock. 

At  this  meal  they  were  again  regaled  with  white 
bacon,  which  appeared  a  standing  dish  in  this  convent, 
for  it  was  produced  at  supper,  breakfast,  and  dinner ; 
at  the  latter,  indeed,  there  was  the  addition  of  a  huge 
dish  of  hard  dumplings,  with  which  they  devoured  a 
quantity  of  pork-dripping  by  way  of  sauce. 

The  morning  had  been  fine  but  showery,  in  the  af 
ternoon  a  heavy  rain  set  in,  which  rendered  it  impos 
sible  either  to  visit  the  cattle-marshes  again,  or  to  pro- 
ceed homewards,  which  young  Wolsey  recommended 
his  father's  men  to  do,  on  the  conviction  of  the  impossi- 
bility of  ever  concluding  a  bargain  with  these  frocked 
and  cowled  dealers  in  cattle  and  swine. 

The  rain,  however,  continued  without  intermission, 
and  the  malcontent  student  was  compelled  to  remain 
where  he  was  till  the  '  plague  of  water,'  as  he  called 
this  unwelcome  downpouring,  should  abate. 

How  to  pass  the  weary  interval  with  men  whose 
minds  and  manners  were  so  dissimilar  to  his  own,  he 
knew  not.  Books  they  had  never  a  one  except  their 
breviaries,  and  their  acquaintance  with  these  v/as  a 
doubtful  matter  to   the   young  student,   since  no  per- 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  193 

suasions  of  his  could  induce  them  to  perform,  vespers 
when  the  bells  chimed  for  that  service,  although  it 
was  a  wet  afternoon  on  which  nothing  else  could  be 
done. 

Whether  to  attribute  this  to  their  utter  disrelish  lo 
any  thing  of  a  spiritual  nature,  or  to  their  fear  of  be- 
traying their  ignorance  of  latin  and  other  deficiences 
o  one  whom  they  feared  would  detect  their  blunders, 
and  perhaps  report  them  to  their  superior  at  Thet- 
ford,  Wolsey  knew  not,  but  he  was  so  heartily  weary 
of  his  sojourn  among  them,  that  nothing  but  the  most 
pathetic  remonstrances  and  earnest  protestations  on 
thn  part  of  Humphrey  against  such  a  measure,  pre- 
vented him  from  retracing  his  steps  to  Blitheburgh, 
in  spite  of  the  rain,  and  remaining  with  the  monks  of 
Holy-Rood  Chapel  till  his  father's  people  had  transac- 
ted their  business  with  the  conventual  graziers  of 
Reydon. 

The  following  morning  proving  fine,  they  again 
proceeded  to  the  marshes  in  the  hope  of  striking  a 
bargain,  which  was  at  length  concluded ;  but  not  till 
after  a  delay  that  appeared  to  the  impatient  Wolsey 
a  most  interminable,  which  time  he  employed,  not  in 
listening  to  the  altercations  of  the  buyer  and  sellers 
of  the  bullocks  ;  but  in  strolling  through  the  marshes 
i»nd  making  observations,  till  he  obtained  a  view  of 


194  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Blitneburgli  on  the  line  of  country  tnat  intervened 
across  which,  he  persuaded  himself  a  much  shorter 
cut  to  that  village  might  be  made  than  by  following 
the  usual  road  throufrh  Wangford.  Just  as  he  had 
come  to  the  resolution  of  attempting  that  route,  the 
convent  bell  rang  for  dinner,  and  summoned  him  to  a 
sixth  meal  of  white  bacon,  of  which  the  monks  ate 
with  as  keen  an  appetite  as  if  it  had  been  the  first 
time  they  ever  partook  of  that  savory  fare,  of  which 
Wols3y  was  by  this  time  almost  as  weary  as  of  the 
company  of  the  founders  of  the  entertainment. 

The  bullocks,  twelve  in  number,  were  now  driven 
into  the  convent  yard,  and  Humphrey  called  upon  his 
young  master  to  pay  down  the  price  for  which  he  and 
the  monks  had  agreed,  at  the  average  sum  of  one 
pound  ten  shillings  a  head,  which  he  pronounced  an 
unconscionable  sum  with  a  sly  wink  of  intelligence 
at  the  Oxford  student,  by  which  he  gave  the  youth, 
who  was  about  to  take  his  words  literally,  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  well  satisfied  with  the  bargain.  In 
fact,  the  Reydon  monks,  shrewd  and  exacting  as  they 
were,  had  met  with  more  than  iheir  match  in  the  cal- 
culating, experienced  Humphrey,  who,  without  ma- 
king a  boast  of  his  wisdom  in  this  way,  knew  how  to 
judge  of  the  weight  of  a  living  ox  almost  to  an  odd 
pound.  Till  ihe  business  was  concluded,  the  money 
paid,  and  the  receipt  given,  he  had  forborne  to  taste  o 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  195 

the  convent  mead  or  ale,  though  b.)th  had  been  pressed 
upon  him  with  an  earnestness  passing  the  bounds  ei- 
ther of  poHteness  or  hospitality  by  the  cunning  monks, 
who  hoped  to  overcome  Humphrey  's  cool  clear  judg- 
ment and  caution,  by  means  of  the  merry  browii 
bowl ;  but  now  fear  of  being  overreached  in  his  bar- 
gain in  consequence  of  such  an  indulgence  was  at  an 
end,  Humphrey,  malgre  all  his  young  master's  expos 
tulations,  demanded  the  lately-rejected  beverage,  of 
which  he,  with  Miles  and  Peter,  drank  pretty  freely, 
though  not  perhaps  so  much  as  they  would  have  done 
had  the  cloistered  cattle-dealers  been  willing  to  pro- 
duce more,  which  they  were  always  sparing  in  doing 
after  a  bargain  had  been  definitively  struck. 

The  drauijhts  which  the  trio  had  swallowed 
f.ad  however  the  effect  of  putting  them  all  into  such 
high  good  humor,  that  when  Wolsey  on  mounting 
proposed  to  them  his  plan  of  changing  the  roundabout 
route  through  Wangford,  for  a  straight  cut  across  tho 
marshes  to  Blitheburgh,  they  offered  no  objection,  for 
even  the  prudent  Humphrey  was  desirous  of  adopting 
any  expedient  by  which  they  might  make  up  for  the 
time  they  had  lost  in  drinking  the  convent  ale  after 
the  business  was  transacted. 

The  monks  assured  them  the  project  was  feasible, 
since  the  branch  of  the  Blithe  which  separated  Hen- 
ham  and   Reydon  was  fordabh,  and  they  would  save 


196  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

a  considerable  distance  by  crossing  the  ri/er,  .ui  their 
hospitality  did  not  ex.end  to  the  civility  of  sending 
one  of  their  swine-herds  or  goose-boys  to  point  ou 
the  precise  spot  at  which  the  attempt  might  be  made 
without  danger  to  passengers.  The  stream  was  much 
swollen  in  consequence  of  the  late  heavy  rains , 
Humphrey  and  the  drovers  paused  on  the  rushy 
bank,  each  prudently  declining  to  be  the  first  to  try 
the  ford.  Wolsey,  who  was  piqued  at  their  doubts  ol 
his  assurance  'that  it  was  safe!  perfectly  safe!' 
though  he  would  rather  have  had  one  of  the  others 
show  a  demonstrable  proof  that  there  was  no  danger, 
urged  his  reluctant  mare  forward. 

'  Hold,  master  Thomas,  hold  !  for  the  love  of  St. 
Margaret  of  Rissmere,'  cried  Humphrey,  who  was 
suddenly  sobered  by  the  sight  of  his  young  master's 
peril,  and  the  recollection  that  the  stream  was  deep 
and  muddy. 

Now  this  St.  Margaret  of  Rissmere  was  a  saint 
for  whom  Wolsey  had  neither  love  nor  reverence,  for 
she  was  the  patroness  of  the  unlearned  monks  of 
Reydon :  so,  without  heeding  the  adjuration  so  pa- 
thetically addressed  to  him  in  her  name,  he  boldly 
plunged  into  the  dark  and  swollen  waters  of  the  dan- 
gerous ford.  He  was,  as  we  have  seen,  an  inexperi- 
enced rider  on  dry  land,  but  a  more  skilful  horsemar 
\han  the  str'pling-student  would  have  f(»und  it  a  diffi 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  197 

cu.t  matter  to  retain  his  seat  and  g-uide  the  terrified 
animal,  who  presently  lost  her  fooling,  and  began  to 
plunge  and  kick  in  the  muddy  slippery  ooze,  of  which 
the  bed  of  the  Blithe  and  its  dependent  streams  are 
composed,  and  which  having  recently  been  violently 
disturbed  by  the  heavy  rains,  was  in  a  state  of  com 
plete  ferment  and  liquefaction. 

Wolsey,  though  encumbered  with  his  bachelor's 
gown,  which  he  had  not  this  time  taken  the  precau- 
tionary measure  of  tucking  up  and  fastening  to  his 
girdle,  courageously  maintained  his  seat  till  the  mare, 
exhausted  with  her  violent  efforts,  sunk,  and  left  him 
floating  on  the  stream.  He  was  an  expert  swimmer 
in  the  cle-^r  calm  Orwell,  or  the  pastoral  Gipping,  his 
native  streams,  but  scarcely  a  fish  that  had  been  used 
to  the  fresh  sparkling  element  of  such  rivers  as  these, 
could  have  steered  its  course  in  the  dark  vortex  of 
brackish  mud  in  which  poor  Wclsey  was  immersed. 

Peter  and  Miles  stood  aghast  at  the  accident,  utter- 
ing doleful  cries  for  help,  without  venturing  to  make 
a  single  effort  to  save  the  almost  exhausted  youth. 
Humphrey,  the  faithful  Humphrey,  at  the  first  alarm 
had  dismounted  from  the  nag,  and  was  preparing  to 
plunge  into  the  stream  to  save  his  master's  son  or  per- 
ish in  the  attempt,  when  one  ot  sir  Richard  Bran- 
don's wood-rangers,  who  had  seen  the  accident  and 
hastened  to  the  spot,  reached  the  end  of  the  long  pola 


198  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

he  had  been  using  in  leaping  the  marsh  ditches  to 
the  youth,  by  which  assistance,  the  stream  being  nar- 
row at  that  place,  he  was  enabled,  though  not  without 
some  difficulty,  to  gain  the  opposite  bank,  from  which, 
as  soon  as  he  had  cleared  his  eyes  and  mouth  of  the 
salt,  bitter,  and  unsavory  ooze  he  had  been  compelled 
to  swallow,  he  called  out  in  an  accent  of  distress  to 
Humphrey,  '  0  !  Humphrey,  Humphrey  !  what  shall 
we  say  to  my  father  about  the  grey  mare  ? ' 

*  St.  Margaret  of  Rissmere  take  the  mare  !  '  sobbed 
Humphrey  who  appeared  to  consider  the  patroness  of 
Reydon  as  somehow  chargeable  with  their  mishap : 
*  don't  talk  of  her,  my  dear  boy,  when  she  had  near- 
ly been  the  death  of  you.  Howsomdever,  master 
Thomas,  you  must  never  undertake  to  lead  those  who 
are  wiser  than  yourself  short  cuts  any  more.  I  hope 
you  have  had  enough  of  this  precious  ford,  that  was 
to  take  you  such  a  near  way  to  Blitheburgh.' 

'  Why  so  it  will,  you  simple  fellow,'  said  Wolsey 
laughing,  and  wiping  the  mud  from  his  face  ;  '  do  not 
you  see  the  beautiful  church  over  those  marshes,  al- 
most at  my  elbow  ?  I  shall  bestir  myself  to  get 
there  as  fast  as  I  can,  now  I  am  over  the  water,  that 

may  get  dry  clothes,  a  good  supper,  and  some  pleas- 
ant chat  with  the  worthy  monks  of  the  Holy  Rood, 
which  will  console  me  for  the  drenching  1  have 
got.' 


WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  190 

'Alack,  alack'  master  Thomas!  what  is  to  be- 
come of  us  and  the  bullocks  ?  '  howled  Miles  and  Pe- 
ter from  the  opposite  bank. 

'  You  may  come  over  the  river  to  me,  an  you  like,' 
responded  Wolsey  from  the  other  side. 

'  We  durst  not  do  that  for  our  lives,'  cried  the  trem- 
bling drovers. 

'  Then  turn  yourselves  and  the  bullocks  about,  and 
find  the  road  to  Wangford  as  well  as  ye  can  :  Hum- 
phrey knows  the  country,  and  he  will  guide  ye  to  get 
to  Blitheburgh  by  that  roundabout  way,  ye  poltroons, 
unless  ye  choose  to  stay  where  ye  are  till  I  am  a  Car 
dinal,  when  it  is  my  intention  to  build  a  bridge  over 
this  sweet  stream,  to  prevent  other  travellers  from  in- 
curring the  peril  which  I  have  done  in  endeavoring 
to  ford  such  a  bottomless  abyss  of  mud.' 

We  will  not  follow  the  young  bachelor  to  Blithe- 
burgh, where  doubtless  he  met  with  agreeable  enter- 
tainment, nor  will  the  limits  of  our  tale  admit  of  our 
tracing  the  progressive  steps  by  which  he  in  the  se- 
quel attained  to  the  eminence  to  which  his  ambition, 
even  in  childhood,  prompted  him  to  aspire.  By  keep- 
ing hi:,  attention  constantly  fixed  on  this  object,  he 
found  it  at  last  within  his  reach  ;  but  was  he  then 
contented  ?  Let  me  answer  this  query  with  another 
— When  was  the  desire  of  human  greatness  ever  sat- 
isfied ?  I  refer  the  juvenile  reader  to  *he  historical 
18 


200  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

summary  for  further  particulars  of  the  career  of  this 
extraordinary  man,  who,  when  he  had  attained  to  the 
coveted  rank  of  Cardinal,  though  he  was  burdened 
with  the  cares  of  the  prime  minister  of  England 
which  ofRce  he  held  during  twenty  years  of  Henry 
the  Eighth's  reign,  was  not  forgetful  of  his  promise 
of  building  a  bridge  over  the  stream  which  had  so 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  himself.  The  name  of  the 
Dridge,  and  the  local  tradition  thereunto  belonging, 
will  long,  I  trust,  exist  to  preserve  the  memory  af  aa 
action  of  pure  benevolence  to  future  ages. 


Ik  '^wMmwt  flf  ^ir  f  I)om:is  !!Tore. 


IN  THE  TIME  OF  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH, 


1 .?  the  pleasant  fields  of  Battersea,  near  the  river  side, 
on  a  spot  which  is  now  covered  with  houses,  dwelt, 
three  hundred  and  ten  years  ago,  the  blind  widow, 
Annice  Collie,  and  her  orphan  grandchild,  Dorothy. 
These  two  were  alone  in  the  world,  and  yet  they 
might  scarcely  be  said  to  feel  their  loneliness ;  for 
they  were  all  the  world  to  each  other. 

Annice  Collie  had  seen  better  days;  for  she  was 
the  daughter  of  a  substantial  yeoman,  and  her  hus- 
band, Reuben  Collie,  had  been  a  gardener  in  the  ser- 
vice of  good  queen  Catharine,  the  first  wife  of  king 
Henry  the  eighth  ;  and  Annice  had  been  a  happy 
wife,  a  joyful  mother,  and  a  liberal  housekeeper,  hav- 
ing wherewithal  to  bestow  on  the  wayfarer  and  stran- 
ger at  their  need.  It  was,  however,  the  will  of  God 
that  these  blessings  should  be  taken  from  her.  The 
queen  fell  into  adversity,  and,  being  removed  from 
her  favorite  palace  at  Greenwich,  to  give  place  to  her 
newly  exalted  rival,  Anne   Boleyn,   her   faithful  ser 


202  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

vants  were  all  lischarged ;  and,  among  them,  Reuben 
Collie  and  his  son  Arthur,  were  deprived  of  their 
situations  in  the  royal  gardens. 

This  misfortune,  though  heavy,  appeared  light,  m 
comparison  with  the  bitter  reverses  that  had  befallen 
their  royal  mistress ;  for  the  means  of  obtaining  an 
honest  livelihood  were  still  in  the  power  of  the  indus- 
trious little  family  ;  and  beyond  that  their  ambition 
extended  not. 

Reuben  Collie,  who  had  spent  his  youth  in  the  Low 
Countries,  had  acquired  a  very  considerable  knowledge 
of  the  art  of  horticulture,  an  art  at  that  time  so  little 
practised  in  England,  that  the  salads  and  vegetables 
with  which  the  tables  of  the  great  were  supplied, 
were  all  brought,  at  a  great  expense,  from  Holland, 
and  were,  of  course,  never  eaten  in  perfection.  Reu- 
ben Collie  however,  whose  observations  on  the  soil 
and  climate  had  convinced  him  that  these  costly  exo- 
tics might  be  raised  in  England,  procured  seeds,  of  va- 
rious kinds,  from  a  friend  of  his  in  the  service  of  the 
Duke  of  Cleves,  and  was  so  fortunate  as  to  rear  a  few 
plants  of  cabbages,  savoys,  brocoli,  lettuces,  artichokes, 
and  cucumbers,  to  the  unspeakable  surprise  of  all  the 
gardeners  in  London  and  its  environs ;  and  hones'; 
Reuben  narrowly  escaped  being  arraigned  as  a  wizard, 
in  consequence  of  their  envy  at  the  success  of  his  ex- 
periment     He   had  hired  a  cottage  with  a  small  field 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR    r.  MORE.  203 

adjoining,  and  this  he  and  his  son  Auliurbal,  with 
great  care  and  toil,  converted  into  a  garden  and  nur- 
sery ground,  for  rearing  fruit-trees,  vegetables,  costly 
flowers,  and  herbs  of  grace ;  and  this  spot  he  flattered 
himself  would,  one  day,  prove  a  mine  of  wealth  to 
himself,  and  his  son  after  him.  That  golden  season 
never  arrived ;  for  Arthur,  who  had,  during  a  leisure 
time,  obtained  work  in  a  nobleman's  garden  at  Chel- 
sea, for  the  sake  of  bringing  home  a  few  additional 
groats  to  assist  in  the  maintenance  of  his  wife  Marga- 
ret, and  his  little  daughter  Dorothy,  who  lived  with 
the  old  people,  was  unfortunately  killed  by  the  fall  of 
an  old  wall,  over  which  he  was  training  a  fig-tree. 

The  news  of  this  terrible  catastrophe  was  a  death- 
blow to  Reuben  Collie.  The  aftlicted  mother  and 
wife  of  Arthur  struggled  with  their  own  grief  to  offer 
consolation  to  him  ;  but  it  was  in  vain,  for  he  never 
smiled  again.  He  no  longer  took  any  interest  in  the 
garden,  which  had  been  before  so  great  a  source  of 
pleasure  to  him ;  he  suffered  the  weeds  to  grow  up  in 
his  borders,  and  the  brambles  to  take  root  in  his  beds. 
His  flowers  bloomed  unheeded  by  him,  and  his  fruit- 
trees  remained  unpruned :  even  his  darling  exotics, 
the  very  pride  of  his  heart  and  the  delight  of  his  eyes, 
whose  progress  he  had  heretofore  watched  with  an 
affection  that  almost  savored  of  idolatry,  were  neglec- 
ted ;  and,  resisting  all  the  efforts  which   his  wifo  and 


204  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Jaughter-in-law  could  make  to  rouse  him  from  thil 
sinful  state  of  despair,  he  fe  1  into  a  languishing  dts- 
order,  and  died  a  few  months  after  the  calamity  that 
had  rendered  him  childless. 

And  now  the  two  widows,  Annice  and  Margaret  Col- 
lie had  no  one  to  work  for  them  or  render  them  any 
comfort  in  their  bereavement,  save  the  little  Dorothy  ; 
nevertheless,  they  did  not  abandon  themselves  to  the 
fruitless  indulgence  of  grief  as  poor  Reuben  had  done  ; 
but,  the  day  after  they  had  with  tearful  eyes  assisted 
at  his  humble  obsequies,  they  returned  to  their  accus- 
tomed occupations,  or  rather  they  commenced  a 
course  of  unwonted  labor  in  the  neglected  garden, 
setting  little  Dorothy  to  weed  the  walks  and  borders, 
while  they  prepared  the  beds  to  receive  crops,  or  trans- 
planted the  early  seedlings  from  the  frames.  And 
Dorothy,  though  so  young,  was  dutifully  and  indus- 
triously disposed,  and  a  great  comfort  to  them  both ; 
it  was  her  especial  business  to  gather  the  strawberries 
and  currants,  and  to  cull  the  flowers  for  posies,  and 
carry  them  out  to  sell  daily  ;  nor  was  she  afraid  to 
venture,  even  to  the  great  City  of  London,  on  such 
errands,  though  her  only  companion  and  guard  vas  a 
beautiful  Spanish  dog  called  Constant,  which  had  been 
given  to  her,  when  quite  a  little  puppy,  by  her  roj^al 
mistress,  good  queen  Catharine,  who  was  wont  to  be- 
stow much  notice  on  the  child  •  and  she.  in  her  tiru, 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T-  MORE.  205 

fondly  cherished  the  dog  for  the  sake  of  her  former 
benefactress.  But  Constant  was,  for  his  own  sake 
very  deserving  of  her  regard,  not  only  for  his  extra- 
ordinary sagacity  and  beauty,  but  for  the  faithful  and 
courageous  attachment  which  he  manifested  for  her 
person,  no  one  daring  to  attack  or  molest  her  while  he 
was  at  her  side.  Constant  was  moreover  very  use- 
ful in  carrying  her  basket  of  posies  for  her,  while  she 
was  loaded  on  either  arm  with  those  which  contained 
the  fruit;  and  so  they  performed  their  daily  peregrina- 
tions, with  kindly  words  on  the  one  part,  and  looks 
and  gestures  of  mutely  eloquent  affection  on  the  other. 
Very  fond  and  faithful  friends  were  this  guileless 
pair;  and  they  were  soon  so  well  known,  and  excited 
so  much  interest,  in  the  environs  of  London,  that 
they  were  treated  and  caressed  at  almost  every  gen 
tleman's  house  on  the  road  :  and  the  little  girl  founa 
no  difficulty  in  disposing  of  her  fruit  and  flowers, 
and  was  as  happy  as  a  cheerful  performance  of  her 
duties  could  render  her.  But  these  pleasant  days  did 
not  last ;  the  small-pox  broke  out  in  the  neighbor- 
hood : — Dorothy's  mother  was  attacked  with  this  fa- 
tal malady,  and,  after  a  few  days'  severe  illness,  died ; 
and  the  very  night  after  the  melancholy  and  hurried 
funeral  of  her  beloved  daughter-in-law  took  place 
Annice  Collie  was  laid  upon  the  bed  of  sickness  with 


206  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

the  same  cruel  disease,  and  Dorothy  was  roused  frcn 
the  indulgence  of  the  'ntense  sorrow  into  which  she 
.vas  plunged  by  the  unexpected  death  of  her  last  sur- 
viving parent,  to  exert  all  her  energies  for  the  succour 
of  her  aged  and  helpless  grandmother.  '  I  know  not 
how  it  was  that  I  was  enabled  to  watch,  day  and 
night,  beside  her  bed,  without  sleep  and  almost  with- 
our  sustenance,'  would  the  weeping  orphan  say,  when- 
ever she  referred  to  that  sad  period ;  'bnt  of  this  I  am 
assured,  that  the  Lord,  who  feedeth  the  young  ravens 
when  they  cry  unto  him,  had  compassion  upon  us 
both,  or  I  never  could  have  been  supported,  at  my 
tender  years,  through  trials  like  those.  '  In  the  multi- 
tude of  sorrows  that  I  had  in  my  heart.  His  comforts 
refreshed  my  soul ;  '  and  it  was  through  His  mercy 
that  my  dear  grandmother  recovered:  but  she  never 
beheld  the  light  of  day  again,  the  cruel  disease  had 
destroyed  her  sight.'  Yes,  in  addition  to  all  her  other 
afflictions,  Annice  Collie  was  now  blind,  a  widow, 
childless  and  destitute;  yet  was  repining  far  from 
her ;  and  raising  her  sightless  orbs  to  heaven,  when 
she  was  informed  by  the  sorrowful  Dorothy  of  the  ex- 
tent of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  her,  in  the  loss 
of  her  daughter-in-law,  she  meekly  said,  with  pious 
Eli,  '  It  is  the  Lord,  and  shall  I  complain  or  fret  my- 
self because  he  lath,  in  his  wisdnni,  resumed  that, 
which,  in  his  bo  inty,  he  gave  ?     Blessed  be  his  holy 


JUDGMENT   (f   SIR  T.    MORE.  20? 

name  for  all  which  he  hath  given,  and  for  all  that  he 
hath  taken  away;  though  these  eyes  shall  beliold  his 
glorious  works  no  more,  yet  shall  my  lips  continue  to 
praise  Him  who  can  bring  light  out  of  darkness.' 

But  the  illness  of  herself  and  her  deceased  daugh- 
ter-in-law had  consumed  the  little  reserve  that  poor 
Annice  had  made  for  the  payment  of  their  rent;  and 
their  landlord,  a  hard  and  covetous  man,  who  had  ev- 
er since  the  death  of  Reuben  Collie  cast  a  greedy 
eye  on  the  garden,  which  he  and  his  son  had  made 
and  planted  with  such  labor  and  cost,  called  upon  the 
poor  widow  on  the  quarter-day,  and  told  her,  with 
many  harsh  words,  that  unless  she  resigned  the  lease 
of  the  garden  to  him,  he  would  distrain  her  goods  for 
the  rent  she  owed  him,  and  turn  her  and  her  grand- 
daughter into  the  street. 

'  It  is  hard  to  resign  the  lease  of  the  garden,  which 
has  not  yet  remunerated  us  for  the  sum  my  poor  hus- 
band laid  out  upon  it,  just  as  it  is  becoming  produc- 
tive ;  but  I  am  in  your  debt.  Master  Barker,  so  you 
must  deal  wiih  me  according  to  your  conscience,' 
said  the  blind  widow  ;  on  which  he  took  the  garden 
into  his  own  hands  and  made  a  merit  of  leaving  the 
two  forlorn  ones  in  possession  of  the  cottage. 

And   now  Dorothy  betook  herself  to  spinning,  foi 
the  maintenance  of  herself  and  her  helpless  relative 
but  it  was  not  much  that  she  could  earn  in  that  way 


208  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

after  having  been  accustomed  to  active  employment  in 
the  open  air  :  and  then  her  grandmother  fell  sick  a- 
gain  of  a  rheumatic  fever,  and  Dorothy  was  compelled 
to  sell  first  one  piece  of  furniture  then  another  to  pur- 
chase necessaries  for  her,  till  at  length  nothing  was 
left  but  the  bed  on  which  poor  Annice  lay  ;  and  when 
Dorothy  looked  round  the  desolate  apartment  th^r 
had  formerly  been  so  neat  and  comfortable,  she  was 
she  was  almost  tempted  to  rejoice  that  her  grand- 
mother could  not  behold  its  present  dreary  aspect. 

Winter  again  approached  with  more  than  ordinary 
severity  :  quarter  day  came  and  found  the  luckless 
pair  unprovided  with  money  to  pay  the  rent ;  and 
their  cruel  landlord  turned  the  blind  widow  and  her 
orphan  grandchild  into  the  street :  and,  but  for  the  be- 
nevolence of  a  poor  laundress,  who  out  of  pity  ad- 
mitted them  into  her  wretched  hovel  by  the  way-side, 
they  would  have  had  no  shelter  from  the  inclemency 
of  the  night  that  followed.  Annice,  helpless  as  an  in- 
fant, sunk  down  upon  the  straw,  whereon  her  com- 
passionate neighbor  had  assisted  in  placing  her,  and 
having  feebly  expressed  her  thanks,  turned  her  face 
to  the  wall ;  for  she  could  not  bear  that  her  son's  or- 
phan should  see  the  tears  which  she  vainly  strove  to 
repress ;  but  she  could  not  hide  them  from  the  anxious 
scrutiny  of  the  weeping  girl,  Dorothy  did  not  speaK 
bci';  looked  veiy  earnestly  on  the  pale  cheek  and  sun 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T    MORE.  209 

ken  Teatures  of  her  venerable  grandmother,  wliile  she 
appeared  to  hold  communion  with  her  own  heart  on 
some  subject  of  painful  interest.  At  length  she  rose 
up  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  effected  a  mighty 
conquest,  and  exclaimed,  '  Yes,  dearest  grandmother, 
It  shall  be  done  :  the  sacrifice  shall  be  made  ! ' 

'  What  shall  be  done,  my  child  ? '  inquired  Annice 
m  surprise  :  '  I  have  asked  nothing  of  you.' 

'  Not  indeed  with  your  lips,  dear  parent  of  my  de- 
parted father,'  said  Dorothy  ;  '  but  your  pallid  cheek 
and  tearful  eyes  have  demanded  a  sacrifice  of  me, 
ivhich,  however  dearly  it  cost  me,  shall  be  made-- 
I  will  sell  Constant.' 

'  Sell  Constant ! '  echoed  her  grandmother  ;  '  can 
you  part  with  the  gift  of  your  royal  mistress  ?  ' 

'  Not  willingly,  believe  me,'  said  Dorothy,  throwing 
her  arms  about  the  neck  of  her  mute  favorite,  and 
bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears ;  '  but  how  can  I  see  you 
want  bread  ?  It  is  not  long  since  that  I  was  offered 
an  angel  of  gold  for  him  by  a  servant  of  the  Duchess 
of  Suffolk ;  and  this  I  selfishly  refused  at  that  time, 
saying  I  would  rathor  starve  than  part  with  my  dog. 
Alas,  poor  fellow !  though  I  have  shared  my  scanty 
pittance  with  him,  since  your  illness  he  has  suffered 
m'J:h  for  want  of  food;  famine  hath  touched  us  all 


210  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

and  I  have  reason  to  reproach  myself  for  having  re* 
tained  a  creature  I  can  no  longer  maintain.' 

The  next  morning  she  rose  at  an  early  hour,  and, 
accompanied  by  her  faithful  Constant,  took  the  road  to 
Westminster,  to  inquire  if  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk 
were  still  disposed  to  purchase  him  at  the  price  she 
had  named ;  but  she  returned,  bathed  in  tears,  and  in 
great  distress,  having  encountered  two  ruffians,  in  a 
lonely  part  of  the  road  at  Knightsbridge,  one  of  whom 
claimed  Constant  as  his  property,  violently  seized  up- 
on him,  and,  in  spite  of  her  tears  and  remonstrances, 
carried  him  off,  threatening  her  with  very  harsh  usage 
if  she  attempted  to  follow. 

Poor  Dorothy  !  this  appeared  the  severest  trial  that 
had  yet  befallen  her ;  at  any  rate  it  was  one  of  those 
drops  of  bitterness  which  make  a  brimful  cup  of  mis- 
ery overflow ;  and,  regardless  of  the  soothings  or  ex 
postulations  of  her  grandmother,  she  wept  and  sobbed 
all  that  night,  refusing  to  be  comforted.  She  rose  the 
following  morning  with  the  melancholy  conviction 
that  no  resource  now  remained  but  the  wretched  one 
of  supplicating  the  alms  of  the  charitably  disposed  in 
the  streets  and  highways.  Nothing  but  the  impera- 
tive urgency  of  the  case  could  have  reconciled  the 
meek  and  timid  Dorothy  to  a  mode  of  life  so  every 
way  repugnant  to  her  feelings.  '  We  wept  when  we 
saw  my  dear  mother  laid  in  the  cold  and  sflent  grave  • 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  211 

but  now  I  rej  )ice  that  she  was  spared  the  grief  of  see« 
ing  this  day,'  said  the  sorrowful  orphan,  when  she 
commenced  her  unwonted  vocation,  and  experienced 
the  bitter  taunts  of  the  pampered  menials  of  the  great,, 
the  rude  repulses  of  the  unfeeling,  or  the  grave  re- 
bukes of  the  stern,  but  well-meaning  moralists  who, 
though  they  awarded  their  charily,  accompanied  their 
alms  with  reflections  on  the  disreputable  and  lazy 
trade  she  had  adopted.  Some  there  were  indeed, 
who,  touched  with  the  sweetness  and  modesty  of  her 
manners  and  appearance,  spake  the  forlorn  one  kind- 
ly, relieved  her  present  wants,  and  bade  her  call  a- 
gain ;  but  the  number  of  these  was  comparatively 
small :  and  the  bread  which  she  earned  so  hardly  for 
herself  and  her  aged  relative  was,  literally  speaking, 
steeped  in  her  tears.  While  pursuing  her  miserable 
occupation,  she  sadly  missed  the  company  and  cares- 
ses of  the  faithful  Constant.  '  He  would  have  been 
kind  and  affectionate,'  she  said,  '  if  all  the  world  had 
frowned  upon  her.  Her  change  of  circumstances 
made  no  alteration  in  his  regard  ;  if  she  were  in  sick- 
ness or  sorrow,  and  others  chid  or  scorned  her,  he  ap- 
peared to  redouble  his  endearments;  and,  while  he 
was  by  her  side,  she  did  not  feel  so  very  lonely — so 
sweet  it  is  to  be  assured  of  the  love  of  one  friend, 
hovve/er  humbl?.'     Sometimes  too  she  thought  she 


212  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

should  feel  less  sorrowful  if  she  were  assured  tV.at  he 
had  fallen  into  good  hands. 

Meantime  days  and  weeks  passed  away,  her  clothes 
grew  old  and  her  shoes  were  worn  out,  and  Dorothy, 
who  was  accustomed  to  appear  so  neat  and  nice  in 
her  attire,  was  reduced  io  the  garb  of  the  most  abject 
misery;  but  though  baiefoot  and  sorely  pinched  with 
cold  and  famine,  she  thought  less  of  her  own  suffer- 
ings than  of  the  privations  to  which  her  blind  grand- 
mother was  exposed. 

One  evening,  when  the  snow  lay  deep  upon  the 
ground,  and  Dorothy  had  been  begging  all  day  with- 
out receiving  a  singie  penny  in  alms,  neither  had  she 
tasted  a  morsel  of  food  since  a  very  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  her  strength  failed  her;  and,  overcome  by 
cold,  hunger,  weariness,  and  sorrow,  she  sat  down  on 
a  heap  of  frozen  snow  by  the  way-side,  and  wept  bit- 
terly. The  river  Thames  was  then  frozen  over ;  she 
had  walked  across  it  on  the  ice,  and  was  now  in  the 
parish  of  Chelsea.  She  regretted  that  she  had  ven- 
tured so  far  from  her  home,  for  she  was  oppressed 
with  fatigue ;  and,  though  she  saw  the  trees  and  hou- 
ses on  the  opposite  shores  of  Battersea  so  near,  she 
fell  as  if  she  could  not  reach  them  that  night.  A 
drowsy  feeling,  the  fatal  effects  of  cold  and  hunger 
combined,  was  stealing  over  her;  she  tried  to  rouse 
herself,  '  for '  she  faintly  whispered   to  hereslf  '  m^ 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  213 

po.^r  grandmother  will  be  so  uneasy,  if  I  do  not  re- 
turn :  but  then,  she  thought,  '  how  pleasantly  I  could 
go  to  sleep  here,  and  forget  all  my  troubles !  I  am 
not  cold  now,  only  so  very,  very  drowsy ;  '  and, 
ihough  aware  that  if  she  did  yield  to  these  lethargic 
feelings,  her  sleep  -vould  be  the  sleep  of  death,  she  re- 
quired some  slim  ilus,  more  powerful  than  even  that 
conviction,  to  dispal  the  soporific  influence  of  the 
deadly  cold  which  had  seized  her  tender  frame,  like 
a  witherinsf  bliirht,  and  benumbed  her  faculties.  But 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  shores  of  Battersea, 
with  their  snow-clad  trees  and  houses,  were  fading 
before  her  closing  eyes,  and  she  was  sinking  passive- 
ly and  almost  pleasingly  into  that  slumber  from  which 
she  would  never  have  awaked,  she  was  roused  by  a 
dog  bounding  suddenly  upon  hei  with  a  joyful  cry, 
and  licking  her  benumbed  face  and  hands  with  the 
most  passionate  demonstrations  of  aflfection. 

'Ah,  my  dear,  dear  Constant!  is  it  you?'  she  ex- 
claimed in  an  impulsive  burst  of  delight  at  this  unex- 
pected rencontre.  The  icy  bonds  of  the  death-sleep 
that  had  enchained  her  were  broken;  she  returned 
the  eao^er  caresses  of  the  faithful  animal  with  the  rap- 
ture  of  one  who  is  suddenly  restored  to  a  long-los-. 
friend ;  and,  starting  from  the  ground  with  renewed 
strength  ani  spii  its,  she  exclaimed,  '  I  shall  be  able  to 


214  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

reach  home  now  I  have   found  you,  my  pretty  Con 
Btant,  my  own  dear  dog  ! ' 

*  Your  dog,  hussey  ? '  interposed  a  serving-maa, 
rudely  separating  the  reunited  friends,  '  I'd  have  yon 
know  that  this  dog  belongs  to  my  Lady  More,  whose 
footman  I  have  the  honor  to  be.' 

'  Indeed,  indeed,  it  is  my  dog  that  was  stolen  from 
me,  on  the  Knightsbridge-road,  by  a  hard-hearted 
man,'  sobbed  Dorothy;  she  was  going  to  add, 'just 
such  a  one  as  yourself,'  but  she  stopped  short. 

'  And  pray,  my  sweet  mistress,  may  I  ask  how  a 
beggar-wench,  like  yourself,  came  in  possession  of  a 
dog  of  such  a  rare  and  cosily  breed  ? '  demanded  the 
man  with  a  sneer. 

'He  was  given  to  me,  when  quite  a  puppy,  by  my 
sovereign  lady,  good  queen  Catharine,  who  was  ever 
gracious  unto  me,'  said  she. 

'Ho!  ho!  ho!  was  she  so?'  responded  the  man, 
bursting  into  an  insulting  laugh  ;  '  a  likely  tale,  for- 
sooth !  you  look  like  a  queen's  minion,  my  mistress, 
do  you  not  ?  Well,  well,  it  is  not  a  small  lie  that 
will  choke  you !  Good  night,  my  fair  courtier,  'tis 
too  cold  to  stand  parleying  with  you  on  the  matter.' 
So  saying,  he  laid  violent  hands  on  Constant ;  and 
In  spitf  of  his  resistance  and  Dorothy's  tears  a- d  pas- 
sionate remonstrances,  he  tucked  him  under  his  arm, 
and  trudged  off. 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  BIORE.  215 

Cold,  hanger,  weariness,  and  dejection,  wtre  alike 
forgotten  by  the  bereaved  mistress  of  Constant  at  the 
prospect  of  a  second  separation  from  this  faithful 
friend,  whose  affecting  remembrance  of  her,  after  so 
long  an  absence,  had  endeared  him  to  her  more  than 
ever  ;  and,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  follow- 
ed the  servant  as  quickly  as  her  naked  and  lacerated 
feet  could  carry  her  over  the  frozen  snow,  till  he  ar- 
rived at  the  gates  of  sir  Thomas  More's  mansion, 
which  she  essayed  to  enter  with  him. 

'  Why,  you  saucy  young  jade ! '  exclaimed  he, 
trusting  her  back  ;  '  this  is  a  pass  of  impudence  be- 
yond any  thing  I  ever  heard  of !  Don't  you  know 
that  I  am  my  lady  More's  own  footman,  and  sir  Thom- 
as More,  my  lady's  husband,  is  the  lord  high  Chan- 
cellor of  England  ? ' 

'  I  pray  you  then  to  bring  me  to  the  speech  of  her 
ladyship,'  said  Dorothy,  'for  the  higher  she  be,  the 
more  will  it  behove  her  to  do  me  justice.' 

On  this  the  serving-man,  who  was  aware  that  his 
lady  was  a  proud  worldly  woman,  and  by  no  means 
likely  to  resign  her  favorite  dog  to  a  beggar-girl, 
laughed  immoderately.  Some  of  his  fellow  servants 
who  were  standing  by,  joined  in  his  mirth,  while  oth- 
ers were  sc  cruel  as  to  address  many  jeering  remarks 
to  Dorothy  on  her  dress  and  appearance,  all  which 
ehe  heard  patiently,  and  meekly  replied,  '  the  fashion 


216 


HISTORICAL  TALES. 


of  her  clotnes  was  not  of  her  choice,  but  her  necessi 
ty,  to  which  she  prayed  that  none  of  ihose  who  re 
viled  her  might  ever  be  exposed :  '  and,  when  nont 
would  undertake  to  bring  her  to  the  speech  of  lady 
More,  she  seated  herself  on  a  stone  at  the  gates  of 
the  court  yard,  to  wait  for  the  appearance  of  some  of 
the  family,  though  she  was  exposed  to  the  inclemency 
of  the  snow-storm,  which  beat  on  the  uncovered 
head  of  the  friendless  orphan. 

At  length  she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  the 
servants  came  hastily  to  throw  open  the  gates,  crying, 
'  Eoom,  room,  for  my  lord  chancellor's  coach  ;  '  and 
all  the  daughters  of  sir  Thomas  More,  with  their  hus- 
bands and  children,  came  forth  to  welcome  him,  as 
was  their  custom  ;  for  that  great  and  good  man  was 
very  tenderlj"^  beloved  of  his  family,  to  every  mem- 
ber of  which  he  was  most  fondly  attached  ;  yet,  when 
he  saw  the  half-naked  child  sitting  so  sorrowfully  at 
his  gate,  he  looked  reproachfully  on  them  all,  and 
said,  '  How  now,  have  ye  all  learned  the  parable  ot 
Lazarus  and  Dives  to  so  little  purpose,  that  ye  suifer 
this  forlorn  one  to  remain  without  the  gates  in  such 
an  evening  that  no  christian  would  turn  a  dog  from 
the  fire  ? ' 

'  Noble  sir,'  said  Dorothy,  making  a  lowly  rever- 
ence to  sir  Thomas,  '  none  of  this  good  family  wis* 
of  my  distress  nor  have  I  applied  to  them  for  an  alms 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  217 

the  cause  of  my  making  bold  to  come  hither  was  up- 
on another  matter,  on  which  I  beseech  your  worship, 
ful  lordship  to  do  me  justice.' 

'  Well,  my  little  maiden,  it  is  cold  deciding  on  cau- 
ses here,'  said  sir  Thomas :  '  so  thou  shalt  step  into 
my  kitchen  with  the  servants ;  and,  after  thou  art  led 
and  warmed,  I  will  hear  thee  on  thy  matter.' 

Now,  though  the  words  '  fed  and  warmed,'  sounded 
pleasantly  enough  in  the  ears  of  the  cold,  half-fam- 
ished child,  yet  her  attachment  to  her  dog  prevailed 
jver  every  other  consideration,  and  she  said,  '  Alack, 
noble  sir  !  though  I  stand  greatly  in  need  of  your  hos- 
pitable charity,  yet  it  would  be  more  satisfaction  to 
me  if  you  would  be  pleased  to  hear  me  forthwith  on 
the  matter  of  my  dog,  which  is  detained  from  me  by 
one  of  my  lady  More's  serving-men,  under  the  false 
pretence  that  it  belongeth  to  her  ladyship.' 

'  Go  to,  thou  saucy  vagrant !  hast  thou  the  boldness 
to  claim  my  favorite  dog  before  my  face?'  exclaimed 
a  very  sour-spoken  and  hard- favored  old  gentlewoman, 
whom  Dorothy  had  not  before  observed. 

'  Craving    your   honorable    ladyship's  pardon,'  re 
plied  Durothy  curtseying,  'I  do  not   claim  your  la 
dy.ihij)'s  dog,  for  that  would  be  a  sin  ;  but  I  demand 
my  own  to  be  restored  to  me,  in  which  I  hope  1  wrong 
no  one,  seeing  he  is  mine  own  lawful  property,  w\ii(h 


218 


HISTORICAL-  TALES. 


a  false  caitiff  took  violently  from  me  three  montbs 
agone.' 

'  That  agreeth  well  with  the  time  when  yoar  dog 
Sultan  was  presented  to  you,  Mistress  Alice,' observed 
sir  Thomas,  significantly. 

'  Tilley-valley  !  tilley-valley  !'  ejaculated  lady  More 
in  a  pet ;  '  that  is  ever  the  way  in  which  you  cross 
me,  sir  Thomas,  making  out  withal  as  though  I  were 
a  receiver  of  stolen  goods.' 

'  Nay,  patience,  my  lady  ;  I  went  not  so  far  as  to 
decide  the  cause  before  I  had  heard  both  sides  of  the 
question,  which  it  is  my  purpose  to  do  without  farther 
delay,'  returned  sir  Thomas,  smiling  :  *  so  follow  me 
into  court,  both  plaintiff  and  defendant,  and  I  will  give 
judgment  between  the  parties  before  I  sup  ; '  and,  with 
a  merry  air,  he  led  the  way  into  the  servants'  hall, 
where,  placing  himself  in  the  housekeeper's  chair,  and 
putting  on  his  cap,  he  said,  '  Beggar  versus  My  lady ; 
open  the  pleadings,  and  speak  boldly.' 

But  poor  Dorothy,  instead  of  speaking,  hung  down 
her  head,  and  burst  into  tears. 

'  How  !  speechless  ! '  said  sir  Thomas  :  '  then  must 
the  court  appoint  counsel  for  the  plaintiff.  Daughter 
Margaret,  do  you  closet  the  plaintiff,  hear  her  case, 
and  plead  ^or  her.' 

Then  mistress  Margaret  Roper,  sir  Thomas's  el- 
dest daughter,  with  a   benevolent  smile,  took  the  a- 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  219 

bashed,  trembling  girl  aside  ;  and  having  with  sooth- 
ing words,  drawn  the  particulars  of  her  melancholy 
story  from  her,  she  advanced  to  the  front  of  sir  Thom- 
as's chair,  leading  the  weeping  orphan  by  the  hand, 
and  attempted  to  humor  the  scene  by  opening  her  cli- 
ent's case  in  a  witty  imitation  of  legal  terms,  after 
the  manner  of  a  grave  law-serjeant ;  but,  as  she  pro- 
ceeded to  detail  the  circumstances  under  which  the  dog 
was  lost,  recognised,  and  again  taken  from  the  friendless 
orphan,  she,  by  imperceptible  degrees,  changed  her 
style  to  the  simply  pathetic  terms  in  which  the  child 
had  related  the  tale  to  her — the  language — the  una- 
dorned language  of  truth  and  feeling,  which  never 
fails  to  come  home  to  every  bosom.  All  present, 
save  my  lady  More,  who  preserved  a  very  aigre  and 
impenetrable  demeanor,  were  dissolved  in  tears :  as 
for  the  poor  plaintiff,  she  covered  her  face  with  a  part 
of  her  tattered  garments,  and  sobbed  aloud ;  and  the 
counsel  herself  was  compelled  to  pause  for  a  moment 
to  overcome  her  own  emotion,  ere  she  could  conclude 
her  eloquent  appeal  on  her  client's  behalf. 

'  Thou  hast  pleaded  well,  my  good  Meg,'  said  sir 
Thomas,  smiling  through  his  tears  on  his  best  be- 
loved daughter  ;  '  but  now  must  we  hear  the  defend- 
ant's reply,  for  the  plaintiff  ever  appcareth  in  the 
fight  till  after  the  defendant  hath  spoken  :  so  no  v, 
my  lady,   what  hast  thou  to  say  in  this  matter?' 


220  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

'  My  lady  hath  to  repeat  what  she  hath  too  ofter 
said  before,  that  sir  Thomas  More's  jests  are  evej 
out  of  place,'  replied  my  lady  in  a  huff. 

'  Nay,  many,  good  mistress  Alice,  an  thou  have 
nought  better  to  the  purpose  to  respond,  I  must  be 
fain  to  give  judgment  for  the  plaintiff  in  this  case.' 

'  Tilley-valley,  sir  Thomas  !  thou  art  enough  to  pro- 
voke a  saint  with  thy  eternal  quips  and  gibes,'  replied 
her  ladyship  :  '  I  tell  you  the  dog  is  my  property,  and 
was  presented  to  me  by  an  honorable  gentleman,  one 
master  Rich,  whom  you,  sir  Thomas,  know  well ;  and 
he  said  he  bought  him  of  a  dealer  in  such  gear.' 

'  Which  dealer  probably  stole  him  from  my  client,' 
said  mistress  Margaret  Roper. 

'  Nay,  but,  daughter  Margaret,  how  knowest  thou 
that  Sultan  was  ever  this  wench's  property  ?'  retorted 
lady  More  sharply. 

'  Well  answered,  defendant,'  said  sir  Thomas  :  '  we 
must  call  a  witness  whose  evidence  must  decide  that 
matter.  Son  Roper,  bring  the  dog  Sultan,  alias  Con- 
stant, into  court.' 

The  eyes  of  Dorothy  brightened  at  the  sight  of  her 
old  companion  ;  and  sir  Thomas  More,  taking  him  in- 
to his  hands,  said,  '  Here  now  am  I  placed  in  as  gieat 
a  strait  as  ever  was  king  Solomon,  in  respect  to  the 
memorable  case  in  which  he  was  called  upon  to  de- 
cide whose  was   the  living  child,  which  both  mothers 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  22] 

claimed,  and  to  whom  pertained  the  dead,  which  nei- 
ther would  acknowledge.  This  maiden  saith,  the  dog 
which  I  hold  is  her's,  and  was  violently  taken  from 
her  three  months  agcne:  my  lady  replies,  '  Nay,  but 
he  is  mine,  and  was  presented  to  me  by  an  honorable 
man,'  (one  of  the  king's  counsellors  forsooth).  Now, 
in  this  matter,  the  dog  is  wiser  than  my  lord  chancel- 
lor, for  he  knowelh  unto  whom  he  of  right  pertaineth ; 
and,  therefore,  upon  his  witness  must  the  decision  of 
this  controversy  depend.  So  now,  my  lady,  you 
stand  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  as  befits  your 
quality,  and  you,  my  little  maiden  go  to  the  lower , 
and  each  of  you  call  the  dog  by  the  name  which  you 
have  been  wont  to  do  :  and  to  whichsoever  of  you 
twain  he  goeth,  that  person  I  adjudge  to  be  his  right- 
ful owner.' 

'  Oh,  my  lord,  I  ask  no  other  test ! '  exclaimed  Dor- 
othy joyfully. 

'  Sultan  1  Sultan!  come  to  thy  mistress,  my  pretty 
Sultan!  '  said  my  lady,  in  her  most  blandishing  tone, 
accompanying  her  words  with  such  actions  of  entice- 
ment as  she  judged  most  hkely  to  win  him  over  to 
her ;  but  he  paid  not  the  slightest  heed  to  the  sum" 
mons.  Dorothy  simply  pronounced  the  word  '  Con- 
Btunl ! '  and  the  dog  bounding  from  between  the  hands 
Dt  sir  Thomas  More,  who  had  lightly  held  him  till 
20 


222 


HISTORICAL  TALES. 


both  claimants  had  spoken,  leaped  upon  her,  and  over« 
whelmed  her  with  his  passionate  caresses. 

'  It  is  a  clear  case,'  said  sir  Thomas :  '  the  dog  hath 
acknowledged  his  mistress,  and  his  witness  is  incon- 
trovertible.    Constant,   thou  art  worthy  of  thy,  name.' 

'  Hark  ye,  wench !  '  said  my  lady  More,  whose  de- 
sire of  retaining  the  object  of  dispute  had  increased 
with  the  prospect  of  losing  him,  '  I  will  give  thee  a 
good  price  for  thy  dog,  if  thou  art  disposed  to  sell  him.' 

'  Sell  my  dear,  beautiful,  faithful  Constant  I  0,  nev- 
er, never  !  '  exclaimed  Dorothy,  throwing  her  arms  a- 
bout  her  newly  recovered  favorite,  and  kissing  him 
with  the  fondest  aflfection. 

'  I  will  give  thee  a  golden  angel,  and  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  to  boot,  for  him,  which,  I  should  think,  a  beg- 
gar-girl were  mad  to  refuse,'  pursued  lady  More. 

'  Nay,  nay,  my  lady,  never  tempt  me  with  your 
gold,'  said  Dorothy ;  '  or  my  duty  to  my  poor  blind 
grandmother  will  compel  me  to  close  with  your  offer, 
though  it  should  break  my  heart  withal.' 

'  Nay,  child,  an'  thou  hast  a  blind  old  grandmother, 
whom  thou  lovest  so  well,  I  will  add  a  warm  blanket, 
and  a  linsey-woolsey  gown  for  her  wear,  untc  the 
price  I  have  already  named,'  said  the  persevering  lady 
More  : — '  speak  shall  I  have  him  ?  '  pursued  she,  pres- 
sing the  bargain  home. 

Dorothy  averted  her  head,  to  conceal  the  large  tears 


JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  223 

ihat  rolled  down  her  pale  cheeks,  as  she  sobbed  out, 
•  Ye — s,  my  lady.' 

'  Dear  child,'  said  sir  Thomas,  '  thou  hast  made  a 
noble  sacrifice  to  thy  drty :  'tis  pity  that  thou  hast  ta- 
ken up  so  bad  a  trade  as  begging,  for  thou  art  worthy 
of  better  things.' 

'  It  is  for  my  poor  blind  grandmother, '  said  the 
weeping  Dorothy  :  '  I  have  no  other  means  of  getting 
bread  for  her.' 

'  I  will  find  thee  a  better  employment,'  said  sir 
Thomas,  kindly  :  '  thou  shalt  be  my  daughter  Roper's 
waiting-maid,  if  thou  canst  resolve  to  quit  the  wander- 
ing life  of  a  beggar,  and  settle  to  an  honest  service.' 

'  How  joyfully  would  I  embrace  your  offer,  noble 
sir,  if  I  could  do  so  without  being  separated  from  my 
aged  grandmother,  who  has  no  one  in  the  world  but  me,' 
replied  Dorothy,  looking  up  between  smiles  and  tears. 

'  Nay,  God  forbid  that  I  should  put  asunder  those 
whom  nature  hath  so  fondly  united  in  the  holy  bands 
of  love  and  duty,'  said  sir  Thomas  More,  wiping  a- 
way  a  tear :  '  my  house  is  large  enough  to  hold  ye 
both ;  and  while  I  have  a  roof  to  call  mine  own,  it 
shall  contain  a  corner  for  the  blind  and  aged  widow 
and  the  destitute  orphan :  that  so,  when  the  fnshion 
of  this  world  passeth  away,  they  may  witness  for  me 
before  Him,  with  whom  there  is  no  respect  of  persons, 
and  who  judgeth  every  man  according  to  his  works 


A    STORY    OF    WILLIAM     THE     THIRD    AND    QUEEN    MAKl 


'  And  is  my  dear  papa  shut  up  in  this  dismal  place 
♦o  which  you  are  taking-  me,  nurse  ? '  asked  the  little 
lady  Lucy  Preston,  raising  her  eyes  fearfully  to  the 
Tower  of  London,  as  the  coach  in  which  she  was 
seated  with  Amy  Gradwell  her  nurse,  drove  under 
the  gateway. 

She  trembled  and  hid  her  face  in  Amy's  cloak, 
when  they  alighted,  and  she  saw  the  soldiers  on  guard 
with  their  crossed  partizans,  before  the  portals  of  that 
part  of  the  fortress  where  the  prisoners  of  state  were 
confined,  and  where  her  own  father,  lord  Preston,  of 
whom  she  was  to  come  to  take  a  last  farewell,  then 
lay,  under  sentence  of  death. 

'  Yes,  my  dear  child,'  returned  Amy,  mournfully 
my  lord,  your  father,    is    indeed    within   these  sad 
walls.     You  are  nr  ,/  going  to  visit  him.     Shall  you 
be  afraid  of  entering  the  place,  my  dear  ? ' 

'  No,'  replied  lau/   Lucy,  resolutely,   '  I  am  not  a- 
fraid  of  going  to  a»  y  place   where   my  dear  papa  is. 


LADY  Lucy's    petition.  225 

Yet  she  clung  closer  to  the  arm  of  her  attendant,  as 
.hey  were  admitted  within  the  gloomy  precincts  of 
the  building ;  her  little  heart  fluttered  fearfully  as  she 
glanced  round  her,  and  she  whispered  to  her  nurse, 
'  Was  it  not  here  that  the  two  young  princes,  Edward 
the  fifth  and  his  brother  Richard  duke  of  York,  were 
murdered  by  their  cruel  uncle  Richard,  duke  of 
Gloucester  ? ' 

•  Yes,  my  love,  it  was ;  but  do  not  be  alarmed  on 
that  account,  for  no  one  will  harm  you,'  said  old  Amy, 
in  an  encouraging  tone. 

'  And  was  not  good  king  Henry  the  sixth  murdered 
here  also,  by  that  same  wicked  Richard  ?  '  continued 
the  little  girl,  whose  imagination  was  full  of  the  rec- 
ords of  the  deeds  of  blood  that  had  been  perpetrated 
in  this  fatally  celebrated  place,  many  of  which  had 
been  related  to  her  by  Bridget  Oldworth  the  house- 
keeper, since  her  father  had  been  imprisoned  in  the 
Tower  on  a  charge  of  high  treason. 

'  Bu«^  io  you  think  they  will  murder  father,  nurse  ?  ' 
pursuoJ  the  child,  as  they  began  to  ascend  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  apartment  in  which  the  unfortunate  no- 
bleman was  confined. 

'  Hush  !  hush  !  dear  child ;  you   must  not  talk  of 
these  things  here,'   said   Amy,   '  or  they  will  shut  us 
both  up   in  a  room  with  bars  and  bolts,  instead  of  ad 
mitting  us  to  see  my  lord  your  father.' 


226  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Lady  Lucy  pressed  closer  to  her  nurse's  side,  and 
was  silent  till  they  were  ushered  into  the  room  u  here 
her  father  was  confined,  when,  forgetting  every  thing 
else  in  her  joy  at  seeing  him  agam,  she  sprang  into 
his  arms,  and  almost  stifled  him  with  her  kisses. 

Lord  Preston  was  greatly  affected  at  the  sight  of 
his  little  daughter,  and  overcome  by  her  passionate 
demonstrations  of  fondness  and  his  own  anguish  at 
the  thought  of  his  approaching  separation  from  her, 
and  the  idea  of  leaving  her  an  orphan  at  her  tender 
age  (for  she  had  only  just  completed  her  ninth  year 
and  had  lost  her  mother),  he  clasped  her  to  his  bosom, 
and  bedewed  her  innocent  face  with  his  tears. 

'  Why  do  you  cry,  dear  papa  ?  '  asked  the  little  girl, 
who  was  herself  weeping  at  the  sight  of  his  distress. 
'  And  why  will  you  not  leave  this  gloomy  place,  and 
come  home  to  your  own  hall  again  ?  ' 

'  Attend  to  me,  Lucy,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  cause 
of  my  grief,'  said  her  father,  seating  the  little  girl  on 
his  knee.  '  I  shall  never  come  home  again,  for  I  have 
been  condemned  to  die  for  high  treason  (which  means 
an  offence  against  the  king),  and  I  shall  not  leave  thia 
place  till  they  bring  me  forth  on  Tower  Hill,  where 
they  will  cut  off  my  head  with  a  sharp  axe,  and  set 
it  up  afterwards  over  Temple  Bar  or  London 
Bridge.' 

At  this  terrible   intelligence.   Lady  Lucy  screamed 


LADY  Lucy's    petitfon.  227 

nioud,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  father's  bosoni,  which 
she  wetted  with  her  tears. 

'  Be  composed,  my  dear  child,'  said  Lord  Preston 
*  for  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  and  we  may  never 
meet  again  on  this  side  the  grave,  since  I  am  so  soon 
to  die.' 

'  No,  no,  dear  father,'  cried  lady  Lucy,  '  they  shall 
not  kill  you,  for  I  will  cling  so  fast  about  your  neck, 
that  they  shall  not  be  able  to  cut  your  head  off;  and 
I  will  tell  them  all  how  good  and  kind  you  are,  and 
then  they  will  not  want  to  kill  you.' 

*  My  dearest  love,  this  is  all  simple  talking,'  said 
lord  Preston  ;  '  I  have  offended  against  the  law  as  it 
is  at  present  established,  by  trying  to  have  king  James, 
my  old  master,  restored  to  the  throne,  and  therefore 
I  must  die.  Do  you  remember,  Lucy,  I  took  you 
once  to  Whitehall,  to  see  king  James,  and  how  kind- 
ly he  spoke  to  you  ?  ' 

'  O  yes,  father !  and  I  recollect  he  laid  his  hand  up- 
on my  head,  and  said,  I  was  like  what  his  daughter, 
the  princess  of  Orange,  was  at  my  age,'  replied  lady- 
Lucy,  with  great  animation. 

'  Well,  my  child,  very  shortly  after  you  saw  king 
James  at  Whitehall,  the  prince  of  Orange  came  over 
to  England,  and  drove  king  James  out  of  his  palace 
and  kingdom,  and  the  people,  who  were  displeased 
with  king  Jrrnes  on  account  of  his  professing  'he  Re- 


228  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

man  Ca-.holic  religion,   which  they  suspected  he  do 
signed  to  reestablish  in  this  country,  deposed  him,  ana 
made  the  prince  and  princess  of   Orange    king  and 
queen  in  his  stead.* 

*  But  was  it  not  very  wicked  of  the  princess  of  Or- 
ange to  join  with  her  husband  to  take  her  father's 
kingdom  away  from  him  ?  I  am  very  sorry  king 
James  thought  me  like  her,'  said  lady  Lucy  earnestly. 

'  Hush,  hush,  my  love  !  you  must  not  talk  so  of 
the  princess  of  Orange ;  for,  perhaps,  she  considered 
she  was  doing  right  in  depriving  her  father  of  his  do- 
minions, because  it  is  against  the  law  for  a  king  of 
England  to  be  a  catholic.  Yet,  I  confess,  I  did  not 
beUeve  she  would  have  consented  to  sign  the  death- 
warrants  of  so  many  of  her  father's  old  servants,  on 
account  of  their  faithful  attachment  to  him,'  said  lord 
Preston  with  a  sigh. 

'  I  have  heard  that  the  prmcess  of  Orange  is  of  a 
merciful  disposition,'  said  old  Amy  Gradwell,  who 
had  been  a  weeping  spectator  of  the  scene  between 
the  father  and  child  ;  '  and  perhaps  she  might  be  in- 
duced to  spare  your  life,  my  lord,  if  your  pardon  were 
very  earnestly  entreated  of  her  by  some  of  your 
friends.' 

'  Alas  !  my  good  Amy,  I  have  no  one  who  will  un- 
dertake the  perilous  office  of  soliciting  the  royal  grace 
for  an  attainted  traitor,  lest  they  sh  5uld  be  susnected 


LADY  Lucy's    petition.  229 

of  fortvarding  the  cause  of  king  James,'  said  lord 
Preston  moarnfully. 

*  Dear  father !  let  me  go  to  the  queen,  and  entreat 
for  your  pardon,'  cried  lady  Lucy,  with  a  crimsoned 
cheek  and  sparkling  eye.  '  I  will  so  beg  and  pray 
her  to  spare  your  life  that  she  will  not  have  the  heart 
to  deny  me.' 

'  Simple  child  ! '  exclaimed  her  father  ;  '  what 
should  you  be  able  to  say  to  the  queen  that  would  be 
of  any  avail  ?  ' 

'  God  would  teach  me  what  to  say,'  returned  lady 
Lucy  piously ;  '  and  he  has  also  power  to  touch  her 
heart  with  pity  for  a  child's  distress,  and  to  open  her 
ear  to  my  earnest  petition.' 

Her  father  clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  but  said,  '  Thou 
wouldst  be  afraid  of  speaking  to  the  queen,  even  it 
thou  shouldst  be  admitted  to  her  presence,  my  Lucy.' 

'  Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  speaking  to  the  queen, 
father  ?  for  even  if  she  should  be  angry  with  me,  and 
answer  harshly  at  first,  I  should  be  thinking  too  much 
of  your  peril  to  mind  it.  Or  if  she  were  to  send  me 
to  the  Tower,  and  cut  off  my  head,  she  could  only 
kill  my  body,  you  know;  but  would  have  no  power 
at  all  to  hur  my  soul,  which  is  under  the  protection 
of  One  who  is  greater  than  any  »{ing  or  oueen  upon 
earth.' 


230  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

*  You  are  right,  my  child,  to  fear  God,  and  to  have 
no  other  fear,'  said  her  father.  '  It  is  He  who  hath 
perhaps  put  it  into  your  young  heart  to  plead  with  the 
queen  for  my  life,  which  if  it  be  His  pleasure  that  she 
should  grant,  I  shall  feel  it  indeed  a  happiness  for  my 
child  to  be  made  the  instrument  of  my  deliverance 
from  the  perils  of  death  which  now  encompass  me ; 
but  if  it  should  be  otherwise.  His  will  be  done.  He 
hath  promised  to  be  a  Father  to  the  fatherless,  and  he 
will  not  forsake  my  good  and  dutiful  child  when  I  am 
low  in  the  dust.' 

'  But  how  will  my  lady  Lucy  gain  admittance  to 
the  queen's  presence,  my  lord  ?  '  asked  old  Amy. 

'I  will  write  a  letter  to  her  godmother,  the  lady 
Clarendon,  requesting  her  to  accomplish  the  matter,' 
said  lord  Preston.  He  then  wrote  a  few  hasty  lines 
to  that  lady,  which,  together  with  his  own  petition  for 
the  royal  mercy,  he  gave  to  his  little  daughter,  telling 
her  she  was  to  go  the  next  day  to  Hampton  Court, 
properly  attended,  and  to  obtain  a  sight  of  lady  Clar- 
endon, who  was  there  in  waiting  upon  the  queen,  and 
to  deliver  that  letter  to  her  with  her  own  hand.  He 
hen  kissed  his  child,  tenderly  blessed  her,  and  bade 
ner  farewell. 

Though  the  little  girl  wept  much  at  parting  with 
her  father,  she  left  the  Tower  with  a  far  more  com- 
posed mind  than  that  with  which  she  entered  it,  for 


LADY  Lucy's  petition.  231 

she  had  formed  her  resolution,  and  her  young  hear*. 
was  full  of  hope.  She  had  silently  committed  Pel- 
cause  to  God,  and  she  trusted  that  He  would  dispose 
the  event  prosperously  for  her. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  lark  had  sung  her 
matins,  lady  Lucy  was  up  and  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
deep  mourning,  which  Amy  had  provided,  consider- 
ing it  the  most  suitable  garb  for  a  child  whose  only 
surviving  parent  was  under  sentence  of  death. 

The  servants,  who  had  been  informed  of  their  young 
ladjr's  intention  to  solicit  the  queen  for  her  father's 
pardon,  were  all  assembled  in  the  entrance  hall,  to  see 
her  depart,  and  as  she  passed  through  them,  leaning 
on  her  nurse's  arm,  and  attended  by  her  father's  con- 
fidential secretary  and  the  old  butler,  they  shed  tears, 
and  bade  God  bless  her  and  prosper  her  in  her  pi- 
ous design. 

Lady  Lucy  arrived  at  Hampton  Court,  and  was  in- 
troduced into  the  countess  of  Clarendon's  apartment 
before  her  ladyship  was  out  of  bed ;  and  having  told 
her  artless  tale  with  great  earnestness,  delivered  her 
father's  letter. 

Lady  Clarendon,  who  was  wife  to  the  queen's  un- 
cle, received  her  young  god-daughter  very  affection- 
ately, but  plainly  told  her,  she  must  not  reckon  on  her 
influence  with  the  queen,  because  the  earl  ot  Claren- 
don was  in  disgrace  on  account  of  being  susp«{ted  ot 


232  HISTORICAL  Tales. 

carrying  on  a  correspondence  with  king  James,  hia 
brotlier-in-law ;  therefore  she  dared  not  solicit  the 
queen  on  behalf  of  her  friend,  lord  Preston,  against 
whom  her  majesty  was  so  deeply  exasperated  that  she 
had  declared  she  would  not  show  him  any  mercy. 

'  O  I '  said  the  little  girl,  '  if  I  could  only  see  the 
queen  myself,  I  would  not  wish  any  one  to  speak  for 
nie,  for  I  should  plead  so  earnestly  to  her  for  my  dear 
father's  life  that  she  could  not  refuse  me,-I  am  sure.' 

'  Poor  child !  what  could  you  say   to  the  queen  ? 
asked  the  countess  compassionately. 

'  Only  let  me  see  her,  and  you  shall  hear,'  said  la- 
dy Lucy. 

'  Well,  my  love,  it  were  a  pity  but  what  thou 
shouldst  have  the  opportunity,'  said  lady  Clarendon  ; 
'but  much  I  fear  thy  little  heart  will  fail  thee  when 
thou  seest  the  queen  face  to  face,  and  thou  wilt  not 
be  able  to  utter  a  syllable.' 

'  God  will  inspire  me  with  courage,  and  direct  the 
words  of  my  lips,'  said  the  little  girl,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

The  countess  was  impressed  with  the  piety  and  fil- 
ial tenderness  of  her  young  god-daughter,  and  she 
hastened  to  rise  and  dress,  that  she  might,  without 
further  delay,  conduct  the  child  into  the  palace  gal- 
.ery,  where  the   queen   usudly   passed   an  hour   in 


LADV^  Lucy's  peiition.  233 

walking,  after  her  return   from  chapel,  which  she  at- 
leuded  every  morning. 

Her  majesty  had  not  left  the  chapel  when  lady 
Clarendon  and  Lucy  entered  the  gallery,  and  her  la- 
dyship endeavored  to  divert  the  anxious  impatience  of 
her  little  friend,  by  pointing  out  to  her  the  portraits 
with  which  it  was  adorned. 

'  I  know  that  gentleman  well,'  said  the  child,  point- 
ing to  a  noble  whole-length  portrait  of  James  the 
second. 

'  That  is  the  portrait  of  the  deposed  king  James, 
queen  Mary's  father,'  observed  the  countess  sighing, 
'  and  a  very  striking  likeness  it  is  of  that  unfortunate 
monarch  ; — but  hark  !  here  comes  the  queen,  with 
her  chamberlain  and  ladies,  from  chapel, — now  Lucy 
is  trie  time  !  I  will  step  into  the  recess-yonder :  but 
you  must  remain  alone  standing  where  you  are.  and 
when  her  majesty  approaches  near  enough,  kneel 
down  on  one  knee  before  her,  and  present  your  fa- 
ther's petition.  She,  who  walks  a  little  in  advance  of 
the  other  ladies,  is  the  queen.  Be  of  good  courage 
and  address  yourself  to  her.' 

Lady  Clarendon  then  made  a  hasty  retreat.  Lady 
Lucy's  heart  fluttered  violently  when  she  found  her- 
self alone,  but  her  resolution  did  not  fail  her ;  and 
whiie  her  lips  moved  silently  in  fervent  prayer  to  the 


234  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Almighty  for  his  assistance  in  this  trying  moment, 
she  stood  with  folded  hands,  pile,  but  composed  and 
motionless  as  a  statue,  awaiting  the  queen's  spproach, 
and  when  her  majesty  drew  near  the  spot,  she  ad- 
vanced a  step  forward,  knelt,  and  presented  the 
petition. 

The  extreme  beauty  of  the  child,  her  deep  mourn- 
ing, the  touching  sadness  of  her  look  and  manner, 
and  above  all,  the  fast  flowing  tears  which  bedewed 
her  innocent  face,  excited  the  queen's  attention  and 
mterest ;  she  paused,  spoke  kindly  to  her,  and  took 
the  offered  paper ;  but  when  she  saw  the  name  ot 
lord  Preston,  her  color  rose,  she  frowned,  cast  the  pe- 
tition from  her,  and  would  have  passed  on,  but  Lucy, 
who  had  watched  her  countenance  with  a  degree  ot 
anxious  interest  that  amounted  to  agony,  losing  all 
avve  for  royalty  in  her  fears  for  her  father's  life,  put 
forth  her  hand,  and  grasping  the  queen's  robe,  cried 
in  an  imploring  tone,  '  Spare  my  father, — my  dear — 
dear  father,— royal  lady  I  ' 

Lucy  had  meant  to  say  many  persuasive  things, 
but  she  forgot  them  all  in  her  sore  distress,  and  could 
only  repeat  the  'vords,  '  Mercy,  mercy  for  my  father, 
gracious  queen  ! '  till  her  vehement  emotion  choked 
her  voice,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  the  queen's 
knees,  she  leaned  her  head  against  her  majesty's  per- 
son for  support,   while  her  rich   profusion   of  flaxeu 


LADY  Lucy's    petition.  235 

ringlet3,  which  partly  concealed  her  fair  face,  floated 
over  the  queen's  dress ;  she  sobbed  aloud  in  tlie  un- 
controlable  anguish  of  her  heart. 

The  intense  sorrow  of  a  child  is  always  peculiarly 
touching ;  but  the  circumstances  under  which  Lucy 
appeared  were  more  than  commonly  affecting. 

It  was  a  daughter  not  beyond  the  season  of  infan- 
cy, overcoming  the  timidity  of  that  tender  age,  to  be- 
come a  suppliant  of  an  offended  sovereign  for  the  life 
of  a  father. 

Queen  Mary  pitied  the  distress  of  the  young  peti- 
tioner ;  but  as  she  considered  the  death  of  lord  Pres» 
ton  a  measure  of  political  expediency,  she  told  Lucy 
mildly,  but  firmly,  that  '  she  could  not  grant  her 
request.' 

'  And  will  you  kill  my  dear  father,  who  is  so  good 
and  kind  to  every  one  ? '  said  Lucy,  raising  her  blue 
eyes,  which  were  swimming  in  tears,  to  the  face  of 
the  queen. 

'  He  may  be  so,  my  child,'  returned  her  majesty  ; 
'  but  he  has  broken  the  laws  of  his  country,  and 
therefore  he  must  die.' 

'  But  you  can  pardon  him  if  jj^ou  choose  to  do  so, 
madam,'  replied  Lucy ;  '  and  I  have  read  that  God  is 
well  pleased  with  those  who  forgive,  for  He  has  said. 
Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy.' 

'  It  does  not  become  a  little  girl  like  vou  (o  attemp. 


236  HISTORICAL    TALES. 

to  instiuct  n  e,'  replied  the  queen  gravely.  *  I  am  ac« 
qaainted  with  my  duty,  and  as  it  is  my  place  to  ad- 
minister justice  impartially,  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to 
pardon  your  father,  however  painful  it  may  be  for  me 
to  deny  the  request  of  so  dutiful  a  child.' 

Lucy  did  not  reply,  she  only  raised  her  streaming 
eyes,  with  an  appealing  look  to  the  queen,  and  then 
turned  them  expressively  on  the  portrait  of  king 
James,  opposite   to  which  her  majesty  was  standing. 

There  was  something  in  that  look  which  bore  no  or- 
dinary meaning,  and  the  queen,  whose  curiosity  was 
excited  by  the  peculiar  manner  of  the  child,  could  not 
refrain  from  asking  her,  '  wherefore  she  gazed  so  ear 
nestly  on  that  picture  ? ' 

'  I  was  thinking,'  replied  lady  Lucy,  •  how  strange 
it  was  that  you  should  wish  to  kill  my  father,  only  be- 
cause he  loved  yours  so  faithfully.' 

This  wise,  but  artless  reproof,  from  the  lips  of  in- 
fant innocence,  went  to  the  heart  of  the  queen.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  once  dear  and  honored  counte 
nance  of  a  parent,  who,  whatever  were  his  political 
errors  as  a  king,  had  ever  been  the  tenderest  of  fa- 
thers to  her  ;  and  when  the  remembrance  that  he  was 
an  exile  in  a  foreign  land,  relying  on  the  bounty  of 
strangers  for  his  daily  bread,  while  she  and  her  hus- 
band were  invested  with  the  regal  inheritance  of 
which  he  had  been  deprived,  pressed  upon  her  mind, 


LADY  lucy's  petition.  237 

the  thought  of  the  contrast  of  her  conduct  as  a  daugh- 
ter when  compared  with  the  filial  piety  of  the  child 
before  her  (whom  a  sentence  of  her's  was  about  to 
render  an  orphan),  smote  her  heart,  and  she  burst  in- 
to tears. 

'  Rise,  dear  child,'  said  she.  '  Thou  hast  prevailed 
— thy  father  shall  not  die.  I  grant  his  pardon  at  thy 
entreaty, — thy  filial  love  has  saved  him.' 


238 
HISTO.ilCAL    SUMMARY 

TO 

UUTHRED  ;  OR,  THE   WIDOW'S  SLAVE. 


Those  who  have  not  examined  the  map  of  that  part  of 
Great  Britian  which  formed  the  Anglo  Saxon  empire,  will 
be  astonished  to  find,  how  large  and  important  a  portion  of 
this  island  was  once  designated  by  the  name  of  Northum- 
b'^rland.  Children  cast  their  eyes  on  the  map,  and  see  our 
northernmost  county,  or  the  land  lying  between  the  Tyne 
and  the  Tweed,  at  present  so  called,  and  must  necessarily 
form  a  very  inadequate  iiiea  of  the  power  of  the  Saxon 
Northumbrian  king;  especially  when  they  find  from  his- 
tory that  this  sovereignty  had  two  divisions,  the  north 
was  called  the  kingdom  of  Bernicia,  and  the  south  that  of 
Deira.  It  is  requisite  to  explain,  that  the  ancient  North 
Humber  Land  hterally  meant  all  the  land  lying  north  of 
the  river  Humber ;  and  the  possessions  of  the  monarchs 
of  this  district  comprised  the  whole  of  the  great  county  of 
York,  Durham,  and  not  only  the  spot  now  corruptly  called 
Northumberland,  but  Roxburghshire,  Lothianshire,  and 
the  north-eastern  counties  of  Scotland  as  far  as  the  Frith 
of  Forth,  and  as  much  further  as  the  strong  hand  of  vio- 
lence could  grasp  and  retain.  Edinburgh,  or  EdwiirWor- 
ough,  was  then  a  city  and  fortress  belonging  to  the  Sax- 
ons, founded  by  one  oi'  their  chiefs. 

A  further  examination  of  the  map  of  Europe  will  shoty 
the  youthful  studer.t  how  conveniently  Northumbria.  with 
her  noble  dotIs  ar.i  rivers,  and  her  Ion  or  line  of   c-w* 


GUTHRED.  239 

washed  by  the  German  Ocean,  was  to  tiie  piratical  rovera 
that  swarned  into  England  from  Norway,  Denmark, 
Sweden,  and  the  north  of  Germany.  These  were  col- 
lectively first  called  Saxons,  then  Danes,  and  afterwards 
Normans,  who  successively  supplanted  each  othe  and 
were  originally  the  inhabitants  of  the  shores  of  the  Baltic 
and  North  Sea.  At  the  era  of  the  tale  of  Guthred,  or 
the  Willow's  Slave,  the  kingdom  of  Northumberland  was 
the  strong  hold  of  the  Danelagh,  or  Danish  invaders, 
from  whence  they  harassed  the  rest  of  the  island.  Anoth- 
er glance  on  the  map  of  England  will  show  our  juvenile 
reader  how  strongly  fortified  by  nature  Northumbria  was: 
bounded  on  the  north  by  the  frith  of  Forth ;  on  the  west 
by  the  chain  of  mountainous  hills  that  divide  the  six  nor- 
thern counties ;  and  on  the  south  by  the  great  estuary  of 
the  Humber,  which  is  the  receptacle  of  the  Trent,  with 
her  thirty  arms,  to  the  south  •,  and  of  many  fine  rivers  on 
the  north,  that  traverse  Yorkshire,  the  Aide,  the  Swale,  the 
Wharfe,  the  two  Dons,  and  their  dependencies.  We  may 
aptly  compare  the  figure  of  the  Humber  on  the  map  to  the 
thick  trunk  of  an  oak  tree,  with  its  numerous  branches ; 
and  the  mischievous  influence  of  the  Danes  may  be  im- 
agined, when  we  remember  that  they  were  able  to  navi- 
gate these  rivers  in  their  flat-bottomed  boats,  and  by  this 
means  pierce  into  the  heart  of  South  Britain. 

Guthred  is  an  historical  character,  and  the  Saxon  an- 
nals thus  relate  his  adventures.  After  the  death  of  Half- 
dane,  the 'Host'  of  Danes,  who  had  conquered  Northum- 
bria, remained  without  a  leader.  The  Northmen  were 
much  at  variance  among  themselves.  Several  years  be- 
fore the  sons  of  Regner  Lodbrok  had  seized  upon  Guth- 
red, the  son  of  Uardacanute,  the  king  of  Lethra,  in  Swe- 
den ;  they  sold  him  as  a  slave  or  thrall,  and  in  803  he  waa 
the  property  of  an  old  widow  in  Northumberland.     Guth- 


240 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY   TO 


red's  lineage  was  known,  he  was  marked  as  one  of  the 
royal  race,  and  he  was  raised  to  the  supreme  authority  in 
a  very  singular  manner.     Eadred,  bishop  of  Lindisfarne, 
acting  as  it  was  said,  under  the  direction  of  St.  Cuthbert, 
who  had  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  proceeded  to  the 
host  of  the  Danes,  and  persuaded  them,  as  well  as  the 
Saxons,  to  accept  Guthred  as  tlieir  sovereign.     He  waa 
conducted  to  Oswin's  Dune,  or  the  hill  of  Oswin,  and  in- 
vested with  the  golden  bracelets,  the  ensigns  of  royal  dig- 
nity, and  solemnly  inaugurated  as  king  of  the  Northum- 
brians, though  in  vassalage  to  Alfred  the  Great  as  his  su- 
perior.    Guthred  was  deeply  indebted  to  bishop  Eadred, 
and  he  paid  his  debt  of  gratitude  by  granting  and  confir- 
ming, not  only  the  lands  between  the  Tyne  and  Wear, 
but  the  royal  dominion  over  all  between  the  Tyne  and 
Tees,  now  the  County  of  Durham.     Alfred  assented  to 
this  donation ;  for  he  saw  the  great  advantage  that  would 
result  to  his  country,  from  the  wild  forests  of  that  district 
being  reclaimed  by  the  peaceful  monks.     From  this  giant 
the  palatinate  rights  of  the  wealthy  bishops  of  Durham 
arise,  and  which  are  still  retained,  in  a  great  measure,  in 
the  present  day.     The  bishop  was  a  prince  between  the 
Tyne  and  Tees.     He  could  pardon  and  condemn,  and  e- 
ven  exercise  the  power  of  life  and  death  ;  and  for  this  rea- 
son, a  bishop  of  Durham  may,   if  he  please,  sit  on  the 
bench  in  scarlet  robes  when  tlie  judges  try  a  criminal 
within  his  diocess. 

We  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  Guthred  ever  re- 
mained faithful  to  Alfred. 

The  ready  election  of  this  prince  by  his  former  ene- 
mies, the  Danes,  as  well  as  the  Saxons,  may  be  account- 
ed for,  by  the  reverence  in  which  the  royal  line  of  Sweden 
was  held  throughout  the  north  as  the  genuine  descendants 
of  Odin,  who  was  the  reformer,  conqueror,  and  laAVgiver 


GUTHRED.  241 

of  the  nortli,  and  for  several  ages  worshipped  as  a  god. 
He  was  said  to  be  of  Asiatic  origin,  and  the  dari<  hair  and 
eyes  that  tradition  describes  his  descendants  to  have  pos- 
sessed, make  that  idea  probable. 

In  such  respect  was  a  king  of  Sweden  held  in  ancient 
times,  on  account  of  his  lineal  descent  from  this  mighty 
ruler  of  the  north,  that  the  rival  monarchs  of  Denmark 
and  Norway  condescended  to  hold  his  bridle  and  stirrup 
when  he  mounted  or  dismounted,  on  solemn  occasions, 
when  these  pnnces  met. 


HISTORICAL    SUMMARY 
TO 

THE    ROYAL    BROTHERS. 

Edwahd  the  fifth  nominally  reigned  over  England  for  two 
months  and  thirteen  days.  His  imaginary  rule  began 
and  ended  in  his  thirteenth  year.  In  that  brief  space  rev- 
olutions of  government  occurred,  of  which  not  one  was 
unstained  by  faithless,  deliberate,  and  cruel  murder  j  and 
it  was  closed  by  a  dark  and  bloody  scene. 

Scarcely  had  the  wars  of  the  roses  been  extinguished, 
when  new  factions  sprung  up  from  the  jealousy  always 
felt  towai-ds  court  favorites,  by  the  ancient  nobility. 
Such  factions  characterise  the  Plantagenet  reigns,  and 
more  especially  those  of  th^  princes  of  York,  who,  having 
been  long  subjects,  continued  thoir  habits  of  intermarry 


242  HISTORICAL     SUMMARY     TO 

ing  with  subjects.  Edward  the  fourth  gave  g;eat  offence 
to  his  proud  nobihty  by  his  marriage  with  Elizabf.th 
VVoo(-ville,  lady  Grey,  whose  husband,  sir  John  Grey,  lell 
fighting  for  the  cause  of  Lancaster  at  tlie  battle  of  Bar- 
net.  Her  father,  and  several  of  her  family,  had  sealed 
with  their  blood,  both  on  the  field  and  scaflbld,  their  devo- 
ted attachment  to  the  red  rose.  But  when  the  beautii'ul 
widow  was  raised  to  the  English  throne  by  her  royal  lov- 
er, her  brothers,  uncles,  and  sons  were  ennobled,  and  were 
great  favorites  at  the  court  of  their  royal  relative.  The 
earl  of  Rivers,  the  queen's  brother,  was  one  of  the  most 
learned,  and  chivalric  nobles  in  Europe ;  he  was  the  great 
patron  of  the  inf  uit  art  of  printing,  an  author,  and  a  hero 
in  the  field.  All  parties  join  in  praising  a  character  so  ac- 
complished, which  shone  with  the  utmost  lustre  in  an  age 
black  with  crime  and  barbarism;  yet  the  earl  of  Rivers 
was  an  oliject  of  peculiar  jealousy  to  the  Duke  of  Glouce- 
ster's party,  which  was  reinforced  by  Henry  duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, a  prince  of  the  blood  royal.  The  Marquess  of 
Dorset,  the  queen's  eldest  son  by  her  first  husband,  and 
lord  Richard  Grey,  her  second  son,  and  lord  Lisle,  her 
brother-in-law,  were  likewise  obnoxious  to  the  adverse  fac- 
tions, for  there  was  a  third  party,  led  by  lord  Hastings 
the  king's  favorite,  and  augmented  by  the  Stanleys  and 
Howards,  who  were  the  king's  personal  friends,  and  an- 
cient adherents  of  the  house  of  York,  faithful  to  the  kmg's 
children,  but  envious  and  hostile  to  the  Woodvilles,  be- 
cause they  were  the  family  of  the  queen.  Such  w-re 
the  three  parties  at  the  court  ol'  England  when  Edward 
the  fourth  died  suddenly  of  a  surleit,  leaving  the  govern- 
ment of  his  son's  mincrity  wholly  unsettled.  Young  Ed- 
ward w^s  then  at  Ludlow  Castle,  under  the  tutelage  ol 
the  earl  of  Rivers,  his  maternal  uncle.  As  soon  as  tlie 
duke  o»'    Gloucester  heard   the   tidings  of   his    brothej-'i 


THE     ROVAl     BIIOTUKRS.  243 

deatli,  he  marched  towards  the  south  with  all  speed,  in 
consequence,  as  afterwards  appeared,  of  a  secret  ander 
standing  with  Hastings,  with  whom  he  had  recently  been 
on  terms  of  hostility.  Hastings  remained  at  court,  but 
Buckingham,  the  duke  of  Gloucester's  ally,  hastened  with 
a  strong  body  of  troops,  ostensibly  to  join  the  young  king. 
Lord  Rivers,  lulled  into  security  by  the  assurances  and 
professions  of  the  dukes,  made  haste  to  meet  them  with 
his  royal  charge.  On  the  29th  of  April,  Edward  the  fifth, 
accompanied  by  his  maternal  relatives,  had  reached  Sto- 
ny Stratford,  and  on  the  same  day  the  Duke  of  Glouce- 
ster arrived  at  Northampton  ten  miles  distant.  Lord  Riv- 
ers immediately  went  to  pay  a  compliment  to  the  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  and  to  receive  his  orders.  They,  together 
wiUi  Buckingham,  who  appears  to  have  arrived  the  same 
day,  remained  in  the  latter  town  till  next  morning ;  but 
the  suspicions  of  Lord  Rivers  were  excited  by  the  outlets 
of  Northampton  being  guarded  during  the  night.  This 
circumstance  occasioned  an  altercation,  in  which  Glouce- 
ster accused  Rivers  and  Grey  of  having  taught  the  young 
monarch  to  distrust  him.  Rivers,  who  was  an  eloquent 
man,  defended  himself  with  his  accustomed  abilities,  but 
as  he  could  not  prove  that  he  was  no  obstacle  to  Richard's 
ambition,  his  defence  was  in  vain;  as  a  chronicler  says, 
'  they  took  him  and  put  him  in  ward.'  On  being  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  the  kinir,  at  Stony  Stratford,  they  as- 
sured him  that '  the  marquis,  his  brother,  and  Rivers,  his 
uncle,  had  compassed  to  rule  the  king  and  tiie  realm,  and 
tc  subdue  and  destroy  all  noble  blood.'  The  unfortunate 
boy  answered  with  touching  simplicity,  '  What  my  lord 
marquis  may  have  done  in  London  I  cannot  say,  but  I 
dare  answer  f;r  my  uncle  Rivers  and  my  brother  here, 
that  they  be  innocent  of  any  such  matter.' 

But  his  protestations  were  in  vain  ;  his  mother's  rela 


244  HISTORICAL    SUMMARY    TO 

tives  were  taken  'nto  custody,  and  conveyed  to  Pontefiact 
Castle.  '  Gloucester  and  Buckingham  sent  away  fiona  the 
king  whom  it  pleased  them,  and  set  new  servants  about 
him,  and  such  as  liked  better  them  than  him  ;  at  which 
dealing  he  wept,  and  was  nothing  content,  but  it  booted 
him  not.' 

On  the  advance  to  London,  their  purposes  were  evident 
to  those  whom  they  most  concerned.  Tlie  queen  fled 
with  her  children  from  her  palace  at  Westminster,  at  mid- 
night, to  take  sanctuary  in  the  adjoining  Westminster  Ab- 
bey. The  confusion  and  hurry  with  which  her  furniture 
was  scattered  over  the  floor  by  her  aff"righted  attendants, 
afford  the  best  proof  of  the  extent  of  their  fears.  '  The 
queen  hersel*;'  as  sir  Thomas  More  says,  '  sat  alone  on  the 
rushes,  all  desolated  and  dismayed.' 

Westminster  Abbey  had  thirteen  years  before  this  e- 
vent  been  the  refuge  of  this  unfortunate  queen,  when  she 
took  sanctuary  at  the  time  her  husband  was  hurled  from 
the  throne  by  the  earl  of  Warwick.  She  fled  by  water 
from  the  Tower,  where  she  kept  court,  to  Westminster 
Abbey,  and  the  unhappy  Edward  the  fifth  was  actually 
born  in  sanctuary,  in  the  Jerusalem  chamber,  an  apart- 
ment still  in  existence. 

On  the  4th  of  May,  the  day  originally  destined  for  the 
coronation,  which  was  now  postponed  till  the  22nd  of  June, 
the  young  prince  was  led  by  his  uncle,  with  due  state,  in- 
to his  capital.  On  Monday,  June  16th,  the  consent  of  the 
queen  to  the  removal  of  Richard  duke  of  York,  the  youn- 
gest of  the  princes  her  sons,  from  the  sanctuary,  was  ex- 
torted by  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  under  the  pre- 
text that  he  should  not  be  in  sanctuary  among  thieves  and 
murderers  at  the  moment  of  so  august  and  sacred  a  cere- 
mony a«  his  bother's  coronation,  and  pleaded  the  desire 


THE  ROYAL  BROTHERS.  245 

of  his  rcyal  brother  to  have  his  company  in  the  yalace  of 
the  Tower. 

The  principal  part  of  the  intermediate  time  was  p|)t'nt 
by  the  king  at  Ely  House,  the  residence  of  Thomas  ]\Jo' 
ton,  bishop  of  Ely.  This  palace,  with  its  extensive  or- 
chards and  gardens  extending  over  a  space  o^  forty  acres, 
occupied  the  spot  where  Hatton  Street  now  opens  into 
Holborn,  and  the  ground  of  the  adjoining  streets.  The 
name  of  Hatton  Garden  is  still  retained  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

The  duke  of  Gloucester  assumed  the  title  of  Protector 
to  the  king  and  kingdom  in  virtue  of  his  near  relationship 
to  the  crown  ;  and  on  the  13th  of  June,  a  council  was  held 
in  the  Tower,  under  pretence  of  regulating  the  approach- 
ing coronation,  at  Avhich  were  present  the  lords  Stanley 
and  Hastings,  together  with  many  prelates,  among  whom 
was  Thomas  Morton,  bishop  of  Ely,  a  fai'Jiful  friend  ol 
his  late  princely  guest.  Richard  duke  of  Gloucester,  af- 
fecting an  unwonted  gaiety,  requested  the  Bishop  of  Ely 
to  send  to  Hatton  Garden  for  a  dish  of  strawberries  for 
breakfiist.  But  after  he  had  retired  for  breakfast,  his  de- 
meanor was  wholly  changed.  On  his  return  to  the  coun- 
cil room,  he  entered  with  a  sour  and  angry  countenance, 
knitting  his  brows  and  gnawing  his  lips.  After  a  short 
time  he  broke  his  sullen  silence,  by  crying  out,  '  Of  what 
are  those  worthy,  who  have  compassed  the  death  of  me, 
king's  protector,  by  nature  as  well  as  by  law  1 ' 

'  To  be  punished,'  said  Hastings,  '  as  heinous  traitors ! ' 

'This  is  the  doing  of  that  sorceress,  my  brother's  wife, 
and  her  kindred,'  said  the  Protector. 

This  reply  was  pleasing  enough  to  Hastmgs,  the  mor- 
tal enemy  of  the  Woodvilles;  he  rejoined,  'that  it  was  a 
vile  treason,  if  true..'     U{  un  which  the  Protector  wear) 
22 


246 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY  Tfc 


of  dissimulation,  cried  aloud,  '  Yes,  I  will  make  goofi  your 
answer  jpon  your  body,  traitor,  despite  of  your  '  ifs'  a  nd 
ands.' '  Then  lie  strucii  his  fist  on  the  board  with  a  great 
rap,  at  which  token  a  man  that  stood  at  the  door  cried  cut 
'Treason!'  Men  in  armor,  as  many  as  the  room  could 
contain,  suddenly  rushed  into  it.  Richard  said  to  Has- 
tings, '  I  arrest  thee,  traitor ! ' 

Stanley  and  the  other  obnoxious  lords,  with  the  good 
bishop  of  Ely,  were  hurried  to  different  dungeons. 

The  Protector  told  Hastings  that '  he  would  not  dine  til! 
he  saw  his  head  was  off.'  It-was  bootless  to  ask,  why  1 
The  e.xecution  was  murderously  hurried,  with  the  brutal 
jest,  that  the  duke  was  hungry,  and  wanted  to  dine. 
Ha-5tings  was  brought  down  to  the  green  by  the  chapel, 
and  being  laid  on  a  long  log  of  tirr.ber,  which  happened  to 
be  near,  his  head  was  struck  off,  without  the  form  or  pre- 
tence of^  a  trial,  or  even  the  specification  of  his  alleged  of- 
fence. Those  who,  after  such  deeds,  could  have  doubted 
the  dire  designs  of  the  merciless  Protector,  must  surely 
have  relinquished  their  opinions,  when  they  learned  short- 
ly after,  that  on  the  very  13th  of  June  which  witnessed 
the  murder  of  lord  Hastings,  a  like  scene  was  exhibited 
near  the  northern  frontier  of  the  kingdom.  On  that  day, 
Radcliffe,  one  of  Richard's  emissaries,  entering  the  castle 
of  Pontefract,  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  armed  men,  put 
Rivers  and  his  friends  to  death,  with  as  little  semblance 
of  judicial  proceeding  as  was  vouchsafed  to  Hastings. 

These  horrible  transactions,  which  are  disputed  by  no 
writer,  have  here  been  related  almost  in  the  words  of  sir 
Tliomas  More,  one  of  the  kw  historians  who  had  the  op- 
portunity of  proving  their  abhorrence  of  falsehood,  by 
choosing  to  suffer  an  ignominious  death  rather  th'in  to  lit 
',er  a  lie ;  he  vi^as  besides,  if  not  an  eye  witness,  a   least  an 


THE    ROYAL    BROTHERS.  247 

ear  witness  to  the  fa^ts,  as  he  was  in  existence  at  the  time 
the  events  were  passing. 

Having  tlius  removed  the  friends  of  his  brother,  Rich- 
ard began  openly  to  attack  the  title  of  his  nephew  to  the 
crown.  The  first  expedient  to  undermine  which  is  singu- 
larly at  variance  with  modern  manners  and  opinions. 
On  Sunday,  the  15th  of  June,  1483,  he  caused  Shaw,  a 
noted  preacher,  to  deliver  a  sermon  against  the  lawlulnesa 
of  the  king's  birth,  at  Paul's  Cross.  Now  this  Paul's 
Cross  was  a  sort  of  pulpit,  with  a  Gothic  stone  canopy, 
that  stood  in  St.  Paul's  churchyard  till  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  from  whence  the  most  noted  preach- 
ers of  the  catholic  times,  and  even  of  those  of  the  Re- 
formed Church,  used  to  deliver  sermons  to  the  London 
populace,  who  stood  around  them  in  the  churchyard,  in 
the  open  air,  to  listen  ;  it  was  a  place  of  great  resort,  and 
whatever  a  favorite  preacher  said  from  this  pulpit  had  a 
wonderful  effect  with  the  lower  classes  of  London  citizeris, 
and  the  Paul's  Cross  sermons  often  glanced  at  passing  e- 
vents,  both  in  church  and  state.  The  extraordinary  ser- 
mon delivered  by  Dr.  Shaw,  who  was  a  priest  of  the  cath- 
olic religion,  then  the  established  church  of  England,  was 
a  vii-ulent  attack  on  the  title  of  the  young  sovereign,  who 
was  to  have  been  crowned  that  very  day,  but  whose  cor- 
onation had  been  postponed  through  the  machinations  of 
his  ambitious  uncle.  Dr.  Shaw's  main  argument  was;, 
that  the  young  king's  father,  Edward  the  fourth,  had  con- 
tracted to  wed,  or  had  secretly  wedded,  another  wife,  lady 
Elizabeth  Lucy,  before  the  marriage  was  solemnised  be- 
tween him  and  Elizabeth  Woodville,  therefore  the  Jast 
marriage  was  void,  and  the  children  born  in  it  illegitimate. 
Stillington,  bishop  of  Bath,  a  false  and  prolligatf  instru- 
ment of  the  duke  of  Gloucester,  pretended  that  he  had 
married  Edward  the  fourth  to  lady  Elizabeth  Lucy,  and 


248  HISTORICAL  SUMMARY  TO 

this  allegation  was  declared  to  the  London  congregation, 
at  Paul's  Cross,  by  Dr.  Shaw.  To  this  he  added  an  odi- 
ous and  unjust  imputation  against  the  Duchess  of  York, 
whereby  he  insinuated  that  the  duke  of  Gloucester  was 
the  only  son  of  Richard  dulce  of  York,  and  that  Edward 
the  fourth  and  the  duke  of  Clarence,  his  supposed  eldest 
sons,  were  spurious  ones  that  their  mother  had  palmed  on 
her  husband.  To  the  credit  of  the  London  citizens,  they 
received  this  vile  attack  on  their  young  king  and  his  fam 
ily  with  scorn  and  loathing,  and  from  that  day  Dr.  Shaw, 
their  favorite  preacher,  was  regarded  by  them  with  ab- 
horrence ;  they  never  would  hear  him  again,  and  he  died, 
a  few  years  after,  literally  of  grief  for  the  detestation  all 
men  felt  for  his  unprincipled  conduct.  But  we  must  return 
to  the  narrative  of  events. 

Two  days  after  the  unpopular  sermon  at  Paul's  Cross, 
notwithstanding  the  sullenness  with  which  it  was  evidently 
received,  the  duke  of  Buckingham  thought  proper  to  har- 
angue the  populace  on  the  same  subject,  and  finished  by 
proposing  for  them  to  acknwvledge  Richard  duke  of 
Gloucester  as  their  lawful  king.  He  had  previously  min- 
gled a  large  band  of  armed  men  in  the  crowd  ;  these  shout 
ed  '  God  save  king  Richard  the  Third!'  and  a  few  'pren- 
tice boys  threw  up  their  caps ;  but  an  ominous  silence  per- 
vaded the  rest  of  the  assembly,  whose  dread  of  the  troops 
with  which  the  false  Protector  had  filled  the  Tower  and 
the  fortress  of  Baynard's  Castle  (which  in  those  days  stood 
on  the  Thames  wharf  still  called  by  its  name),  prevented 
the  citizens  from  a  more  active  demonstration  of  their  dis- 
pleasure. 

After  this  preparation,  Richard  was  proclaimed  k.ng  on 
the  22nd  of  June ;  on  the  36th  of  June,  he  publicly  pos- 
sensed  himself  of  tJie  throne,  in  the  palace  of  Westmin- 
ster, and  we-at  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  hu  accession  ^t 


THE    ROYAL    BROTHERS.  249 

the  crown ;  and  early  in  the  month  after,  July  the  6th,  ho 
was  crowned  at  Westmaister  Abbey,  having  first  marched 
from  the  nortb  five  thousand  fresh  troops,  to  overawe  the 
Londoners.  As  he  dared  not  to  be  at  open  enmity  with 
the  church,  he  set  at  liberty  Dr.  Rotherham,  archbishop 
of  York ;  for  the  same  reason  he  abstained  from  putting 
to  death  the  good  and  faithful  Dr.  Morton,  bishop  of  Ely 
(which  he  longed  to  do),  though  he  still  kept  him  in  du- 
rance, but  as  he  did  not  choose  to  continue  his  imprison- 
ment in  the  Tower,  he  committed  him  to  the  custody  of 
the  duke  of  Buckingham,  who  sent  him  to  his  castle  of 
Brecknock,  in  Wales,  where  the  good  bishop  was  impris- 
oned, a  fortunate  measure  for  him,  as  those  who  read  his- 
tory will  know.  This  Dr.  Morton  was  afterwards  the 
happy  instrument  of  the  union  of  the  rival  houses  of  York 
and  Lancaster,  by  proposing  and  carrying  into  effect  the 
marriage  of  Elizabeth,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Edward 
the  fourth,  become  heiress  to  the  line  of  York  by  the  death 
of  her  princely  brothers,  and  Henry  earl  of  Richmond, 
the  last  remaining  scion  of  the  house  of  Lancaster,  who, 
by  the  defeat  and  destruction  of  Richard  the  Thir<l,  at 
B.jsvvorth,  put  an  end  to  that  tyrant's  atrocious  career, 
August,  22d,  1485. 

The  particulars  of  the  murder  of  the  unfortunate  young 
king  Edward  the  fifth,  and  his  brother  the  duke  of  York, 
were  never  known  with  historical  certainty.  The  follow- 
ing account  was  gathered  from  the  confession  of  the  vil- 
lains that  had  been  em|)loyed  by  Richard  the  Third  to 
perpetrate  the  deed  of  darkness. 

Directly  after  his  coronation,  Richard  left  London  to 
proceed  on  a  progress  through  the  north,  for  the  ostensible 
purpose  of  being  re-crowned  at  York,  aid  in  reality  to 
give  some  relief  to  his  guilty  soul,  by  placing  himself  at 
a  distance  from  the  scene  of  the  murders  he  was  abo\  t  td 


250 


HISTORIJAL    SUMMARY     TO 


execute.  Wliileoii  his  journey,  he  sent  an  order  to  BracK- 
enbury,  governoi-  of  tlie  Tower  of  London,  to  murder  Ed- 
ward the  fifth  anti  the  duke  of  York  his  brother.  Brack- 
enbury,  more  conscientious  than  his  master,  returned  a 
very  submissive  answer,  but  withal  told  him,  he  should 
never  have  the  heart  to  execute  his  commands.  Richard, 
vexed  to  be  deceived  in  his  opinion  of  that  officer,  sent 
him,  by  James  Tyri-el,  a  written  order  to  deliver  the  keys 
of.  the  Tower,  and  the  autliority,  to  the  bearer,  for  one 
night  only.  Brackenbury  obeyed,  and  Tyrrel  gave  direc- 
tions to  his  agents,  Miles  Forrest  and  John  Dightoji,  to  ex- 
ecute Richard's  commands.  That  very  night,  whilst  all 
were  asleep,  they  went  to  the  apartment  of  the  royal  chil- 
dren, and  smothering  them  in  their  bed,  caused  them  to  be 
buried  under  a  little  staircase.  This  is  what  Tyrrel  af- 
terwards confessed,  when  he  was  executed  for  treason,  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  the  seventh.  This  story  was  likewise 
confirmed  by  the  two  subordinate  murderers,  Forrest  and 
Dighton,  who  were  circumstantial  in  their  description  of 
the  crime. 

Shakspeare,  whose  poetry  never  shines  brighter  than 
when  it  is  kindled  at  the  lamp  of  history,  thus  describea 
the  scene: 

'  O  thus,  quoth  Dighton,  lay  the  gentle  baoes, — 
Thus,  thus,  quoth  Forrest,  girdling  one  another 
Within  their  innocent  alahaster  arms. 
Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk, 
That  in  their  summer  beauty  kissed  each  other.' 

That  these  ruffians  confessed  'he  truth  was  afterwarog 
confirmed  by  a  chest,  containing  small'  bones,  being  dis- 
covered, two  hundred  years  afterwards,  under  the  stair- 
case above  mentioned.  King  Charles  the  second  was  so 
niuo.h  conv'nced  that  this  chest  held  the  remains  of  these 


THE    ROYAL    CHASE    OP    WAREHAM.       251 

anhappy  princes,  that  he  caused  them  ti  be  interred  in  the 
rovai  vault  in  Henry  the  seventh's  chapel:  he  likewise 
commanded  a  tablet  to  be  inscribed,  commemorating  theit 
cruel  deaths  and  the  discovery  of  their  remains. 


HISTORICAL    SUMMARY 
TO   THE 

THE  CHASE  OF  WAREHAM. 

When  Edward,  the  eldest  son  of  Edgar  the  Peace- 
able, succe^<led  to  his  father's  throne,  under  the  guardian- 
ship, or  regency,  of  Archbishop  Dunstan,  his  dominions 
were  exceedingly  prosperous ;  besides  swaying  the  scep- 
tre of  the  united  Saxon  heptarchy,  he  was  bretwalda  or 
emperor  over  the  whole  island  of  Great  Britain,  the  kings 
of  Scotland  and  Wales  paying  him  vassal  homage  for 
their  several  domains;  in  short,  he  held  the  same  rule 
that  Edward  Plantagenet  the  First  afterwards  endeav- 
ored to  obtain,  and  succeeded  only  in  regard  to  Wales. 
The  united  wisdom  of  Edgar  the  Peaceable  and  his  prime 
minister,  Dunstan,  established  the  English  sceptre  in  peace 
and  prosperity.  During  his  reign  the  native  Danes  were 
kept  in  bounds,  and  the  invading  ones  repelled.  This  de- 
sirable order  of  things  was  entirely  subverted  by  the^ 
crime  of  Elfrida,  the  stepmother  of  king  Edward  ;  for,  d  i- 
ring  the  weak  reign  of  her  son  and  pupil,  Ethelrcd,  the 
Danes  obtained  the  mastery  of  England,  and  inexpressible 
miseries  ensned  to  the  country,  which  had  a  pause  when 
Edward  the  Confessor  succeeded  to  the  throne,  and  were 
afterwards  renewed,  with  ^taSoid  horror,  by  the  invasion 


252  HISTORICAL  SUMMARY  TO 

of  another  set  of  Northmen,  under  William  the  Conquer 
or.  Tlie  whole  of  this  wretchedness  may  be  traced  to  tha 
personal  wickedness  of  one  woman. 

Elfrida  was  the  only  child  of  the  earl  of  Devonshire, 
and  was  considered  the  greatest  beauty  and  the  richest 
fteiress  in  England.  The  kin?  Edgar,  who  was  then  a 
A^idower,  having  lost  his  wife,  Elfleda  the  Fair,  the  moth- 
er of  his  eldest  son  Edward,  thought  that  the  heiress  ol 
Devonshire  was  worthy  to  be  his  consort;  but,  as  she  had 
been  brought  up  in  great  retirement,  and  Edgar  required 
beauty  and  grace  in  a  queen,  as  well  as  riches,  he  thought 
that  report  might  have  exaggerated  these  qualities  in  El- 
frida, and  sent  Ethelvvold,  his  favorite,  to  visit  Elfrida,  and 
give  him  a  true  account  of  her  claims  to  personal  beauty. 
Ethelvvold  went  accordingly,  and  found  the  young  lady 
so  charming  that  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  wooed  hei 
for  himself  instead  of  his  master,  to  whom  he  gave  a  false 
testimony,  declaring  that  Elfrida  had  no  charms  but  in  hei 
rich  inheritance.  Edgar  immediately  relinquished  the  de- 
sitm  of  marrying  her,  and  his  fivorite  observed,  that  al 
though  Elfrida  was  not  quaUfied  to  be  the  wife  of  a  great 
kinor,  she  was  a  wealthy  match,  and  he  should,  if  the  king 
would  permit  him,  marry  her  himself  forthwith.  King 
Edgar  consented,  and  Ethelwold  soon  after  wedded  the 
fair  heiress,  who,  being  unconscious  of  the  greater  honor 
intended  her,  thought  she  had  made  a  good  match.  In  a 
little  time  the  fair  wife  of  Ethelwold  began  to  be  malcon- 
tent at  finding  that  her  husband  kept  her  mewed  up  at  her 
own  castle,  instead  of  bringing  her  lo  the  capital,  to  share 
in  the  festivities  of  the  most  splendid  court  in  Europe.  At 
last  a  report  reached  Edgar's  ears  that  he  had  been  de- 
ceived, and  after  vainly  questioning  his  favorite,  why  he 
never  brought  his  bride  to  court,  the  king  announced  his 
intention  of  paying  a  \'isit  to^thelwold   and  his  wife 


THE    CHASE    OF    WAREHAM.  253 

Terrified  at  this  information,  Ethelwold  went  to  lis  lady 
and  confessed  his  deception,  imploring  her  to  appear  as  ug- 
ly and  awkward  as  she  could,  and  rather  strive  to  disgust 
the  king  than  otherwise  ;  for  if  she  seemed  as  lovely  as 
nature  had  made  her,  the  king  would  never  forgive  him 
the  false  witness  he  had  borne.  Elfrida  promised  all 
things,  and  as  her  husband  thought  he  had  her  heart,  he 
was  a  little  calmed.  Nevertheless,  both  the  vanity  and 
ambition  of  Elfrida  being  mortified,  she  was  enraged  at 
losing  a  crown,  and  sjill  more  so  at  having  been  so  mis- 
represented. She  did  her  utmost  to  charm  king  Edgar, 
who  was  infuriated  at  the  falsehood  of  Ethelwold.  The 
unfortunate  husband  was  soon  after  found  murdered  in  a 
wood,  when  on  a  hunting  party.  Whether  he  was  assas- 
sinated by  the  order  of  the  king,  or  his  wife,  was  never 
clearly  understood  ;  but  soon  after  Edgar  married  Elfrida 
for  his  queen,  and  she  became  the  mother  of  his  youngest 
boy,  Ethelred,  who  was  seven  years  old  Avhen  his  father 
died. 

At  the  death  of  Edgar  the  councils  of  the  kingdom 
were  divided  into  Dunstanites,  and  Anti-Dunstanites. 
The  partisans  of  Dunstan  were  the  advocates  of  church 
government,  as  dependent  on  the  pope;  these  supported 
the  claims  of  Edgar's  eldest  son  Edward,  and  the  oppo- 
site party  set  up  those  of  Ethelred,  the  son  of  Elfrida. 
Between  Dunstan  and  the  queen  the  most  implacable  ha- 
tred subsisted,  which  was  not  abated  when  that  great  prel- 
ate and  minister  carried  his  point,  and  established  his  j)u- 
pil  and  ward  on  the  throne,  which,  it  is  to  be  noticed,  al- 
though hereditary  in  one  family,  was  not  confinec  t-j  the 
eldest  son,  being  rather  elective  in  the  royal  family  El- 
frida retired  to  the  royai  domain  of  Corfe  Castle,  a'  d  pri- 
vately meditated  mischief,  which,  owing  to  the  vigoroui 
23 


251  HISTORICAL   SUMMARY   TO 

government  of  archbishop  Dunslan,  and  his  [tower  with 
the  Witenagemot,  she  was  not,  ibr  three  years,  able  to 
carry  into  effect. 

It  is  here  desirable  to  inform  the  youthful  leader  the 
meaning  of  the  word  Witenagemot,  more  than  once  men- 
tioned in  this  tale.     The  Saxon  word  Witenagemot  sig- 
nifies a  'Meeting  of  the  Wise.'     It  was  the  name  of  the 
grand  legislative  assembly  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  empire, 
bearing  some  resemblance  to  the  parliaments  of  the  pres- 
ent day.     It  was  originally  composed  of  five  estates,  or 
ranks  of  men.     The  king  was  the  first  estate,  and  the 
head  of  the  assembly.     Next  to  him  sat  the  clergy,  which 
were  bishops,  abbots,  priests  and  monks,  elected  for  their 
superior  abilities  from  different  dioceses;  the  clergy  being 
the  only  learned  men  in  the  kingdom,  and  as  knowledge 
is  more  powerful  than  strength,  they  took  precedence  of 
the  nobles  and  warriors,  and  sat  next  the  king:  the  clergy 
ranked  as  the  second  estate.     The  great  earls,  or  heads  of 
counties,  then  called  aldermen,  sat  with  the  tributary  prin- 
ces of  Scotland  and    Wales,    with    whom   they  ranked 
equally,  and,  like  them,   wore  gold  collars  and  caps  of 
maintenance :  these  Avere  the  nobles,  and  were  reckoned 
the  third  estate.     They  filled  the  station  of  the  present 
house  of  lords,  only  they  are  mixed  with  the  clerg}',  as  our 
house  of  peers  has  bishops,  or  spiritual  lords,  among  its 
members.     The  fourth  estate  was  composed  of  tharjes,  or 
warriors,  but,  as  well  as  warriors,  they  were  obliged  to  be 
landowners.     An  East  Anglian  (or  Norfolk  and  Suffolk 
thane)  was  obliged  to  possess  forty  hydes  of  land  to  ena- 
ble him  to  sit  in  the  Witan  ;  but  a  thane  from  Wessex,  or 
(he  south  of  England,  only  needed  to  possess  five  hydes  (a 
hyde  of  land  is  one  hundred  acres-).     This  fourth  estate  is 
eimilar  to  our  knights  of  the  shire,  or  members  returned 
*br  counties.     The  fifth  estate  were  farmers  and  trades 


THE    CHASE    OF    WARE  HAM.  2n5 

men,  called  in  the  Saxon  language  churls  and  burgesses, 
or  burgliers ;  they  stood  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall,  and 
when  a  law  or  doom  was  passed,  seldom  said  more  than 
yea,  yea,  or  nay,  nay ;  these  were  elected  by  their  neigh- 
bors from  every  town  and  village,  four  good  men  and  the 
reeve,  or  manager  of  the  parish  money,  from  each.  It  is 
plainly  to  be  seen  that  the  fourth  and  fifth  estate  of  the 
Witenagemot,  united  together,  were  the  origin  of  our 
house  of  commons;  but  a  century  after  the  Norman  Con- 
quest, they  turned  out  the  farmers  and  peasants,  and  only 
kept  the  burgesses,  or  representatives  of  towns  and  cities. 
It  is  likewise  to  be  noted,  that  the  Witenagemot  was  held 
in  one  great  hall,  or  on  a  heath  or  common,  while  the 
house  of  lords  and  the  house  of  commons,  in  our  days,  sit 
in  council  in  different  halls,  excepting  tliey  meet  together 
when  the  king  conveues  or  dismisses  them. 

Tradition  says,  that  the  Witan  existed  before  the  Sax- 
ons or  Romans  conquered  Britain,  and  was  held  by  our 
British  ancestors  at  Stonehenge,  that  surprising  circle  of 
masses  of  stone  which  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  midst  of 
Salisbury  Plain.  In  the  times  of  our  Saxon  ancestors, 
when  a  law  passed  in  the  Witan  it  was  called  a  doom, 
instead  of  our  modern  phrase  of  an  act  of  parliament,  or 
a  statute. 

In  our  days  the  kingdom  of  Sweden,  which  was  part- 
ly the  mother  country  of  the  Anglo  Saxons,  still  retains 
the  grand  national  tribunal  of  the  five  estates,  and  the 
last  (ihe  peasants)  are  a  grave  venerable  body,  men  of 
few  words,  but  of  great  respectability,  and  not  withcct 
power  in  the  commonwealth. 

It  was  this  g-eat  council  of  the  Witenagemot  that  con- 
firmed  the  title  of  young  Edward,  and  placed  him  under 
the  tutelage  and  guardianship  of  archbishop  Dunstan, 
a  most  austere  man,  deserving  the  reprobation  of  uo^- 


256  HISTORICAL   SUMMARY   TO 

lerily  as  a  fanatic  and  persecutor:  but  during  tlic  sliorl 
reign  of  Edward,  and  the  long  one  of  Edgar  his  father 
he  was  a  great  statesman,  and  mo.^t  able  prime  minister, 
over  a  happy  people  and  a  flourishing  country  EllVida 
and  her  partisans  were  kept  in  awe  by  his  vigorous  ad- 
ministration ;  but  that  which  public  rebellion  dared  not  at- 
tempt, accident  and  private  malice  cflected.  Edward  and 
Ethelred,  though  their  several  parties  might  strive  to  ren- 
der them  enemies,  were  united  by  strong  ties  of  brotherly 
affection.  Edward  chose  to  hunt  the  deer  at  Wareham, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Corfe  Castle,  in  Dorsetshire, 
where  Elfrida  and  Ethelred  then  resided.  It  is  said  that 
with  youthful  curiosity  he  was  purposely  allured  to  the 
castle  by  the  tricks  of  Wulstan,  tlie  queen's  little  cankered 
dwarf,  and  he  advanced  alone  to  the  lofty  hall  of  his  moth- 
er-in-law. She  received  him  at  the  doorway,  and  kissed 
him.  Before  the  king  alighted,  a  cup  was  offered,  and  as 
he  was  quaffing  the  draught,  one  of  Elfrida's  attendants 
(some  say  herself)  stabbed  him.  The  wounded  prince 
had  yet  strength  enough  to  spur  his  horse,  but  fainting  on 
the  road,  his  body  was  dragged  in  the  stirrup  by  the  af- 
frighted animal,  who  stopped  at  the  cottage  of  a  blind 
widow.  Life  was  i;hen  extinct  in  the  young  king,  whose 
bloody  corpse  was  frightfully  mangled  by  the  rough  roads 
over  which  it  had  been  hurried.  Elfrida  thus  gained  her 
wicked  ends,  for  Ethelred,  the  younger  son  of  Edgar,  was 
then  sole  heir.  So  little  did  the  boy  exuit  in  his  moiher'a 
Buccesslul  crime,  that  when  told  of  his  brother's  dreadful 
death,  he  wept  most  bitterly  ;  this  conduct  enraged  his  vi- 
olent mother  to  that  degree,  that  she  seized  a  wax  taper 
and  so  belabored  her  child  with  it  that  she  almost  killed 
him  This  vile  woman  became  afterwards  abjectly  peni 
entj  she  built  a  convent  on  the  spot  where  Ed  ward 'a 
•ody  was  found,  and  ended  her  life  in  childish  penances 


THE    ROYAL    CHASE    OF    WAREHAM.       257 

nmong  others,  history  records  that  her  terror  of  the  sup- 
posed approach  of  the  evil  one  was  so  great,  that  she 
souglit  to  evade  his  clutch  by  covering  her  body  all  over 
witli  little  crosses.     She  died  in  extreme  horror. 

There  are  two  terms  that  require  explanation  in  this* 
tale,  the  expressions  Drink  heal  and  Weas  heal.  They 
were  the  forerunners  of  a  custom  not  entirely  obsolete  a- 
mong  us,  and  simply  meant  an  invitation  to  drink  one's 
health,  and  the  answer  before  drinking  of  '  Wish  health.' 
A  little  after  this  time,  when  the  lawless  Danes  filled  the 
land  with  violence  and  treachery,  and  actions  similar  to 
this  murder  of  Elfrida's  became  of  daily  occurrence  m  the 
land,  the  custom  of  pledging  a  companion  when  drinking 
was  usual;  and  the  phrase  of  'I  pledge  you,'  still  in  use 
in  country  places,  meant  originally.  Your  honor  is  pledged 
not  to  stab  me  while  the  cup  is  at  my  lips. 

Ethelred,  who  seems  to  have  had,  naturally,  kindly  feel- 
ings, being  brought  up  under  the  misrule  of  his  violent,  ca- 
pricious mother,  proved  a  weak  and  bad  king,  and  his  mis- 
government  laid  the  foundation  of  nearly  three  centuries 
of  misery  to  his  country,  which  might  have  been  averted, 
if  his  brother  Edward,  a  prince  of  great  promise,  and  as- 
Kisted  by  able  ministers,  had  not  been  cut  off  by  .he  nau^ 
derous  Elfrida. 


258 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY 

TO 

THE  SONS  OF  THE  CONaUEROR 

The  extensive  tract  of  land  in  Hampshire,  called  the 
New  Forest,  from  the  era  of  the  Conquest  to  the  present 
any,  was,  in  the  Saxon  time:?,  a  fruitful  and  cultivated  dis- 
trict, called  Ytew.  The  desecration  of  upwards  of  thir- 
ty-six churches  thereon,  and  the  depopulation  of  numerous 
towns  and  villages  belonging  thereto,  with  the  destruction 
of  the  property  of  the  inhabitants,  who  were  driven  forth 
from  their  homes,  which  were  laid  Avaste  to  form  this  hun- 
ting ground,  without  the  slightest  compensation  made  to 
the  owners,  rendered  the  Norman  dynasty  exceedingly 
unpopular  with  their  subjects.  In  the  lifetime  of  the  Con- 
queror, his  favorite  son  Richard,  and  his  grandson,  lost 
their  lives  hunting  in  this  chase. 

His  successor,  William  Rufus,  continued  throughout 
his  whole  reign  the  same  lawless  depredations  on  the  prop- 
erty of  his  subjects,  and  greatly  enlarged  the  precmcts  of 
the  New  Forest;  according  to  the  early  chronicles,  up 
wards  of  fifty  churches  weie  ultimately  destroyed,  besides 
seventeen  churches  and  towns  overthrown  and  desolated, 
to  make  anotlier  New  Forest  of  lesser  extent  at  Winuior. 

Historians  affirm  that  the  Norman  princes  conceale^  a 
political  motive  under  the  pretence  of  a  passionate  love  of 
hunting,  and  that  they  depopulated  these  districts  in  order 
to  afford  a  freer  access  to  the  troops  which  they  occasion- 
ally sent  from  Normandy,  to  overawe  the  English. 

But  a  violent  love  for  the  chase  seems  to  have  been  the 
Wsettirio-  sin   >f  the  Norman  princes,  fiom  whence  sprung 


HISTORICAL  Tales.  259 

Jieir  cruel  game  laws;  for  instance,  a  man  that  killed  a 
Etag  out  of  season  was  hanged  or  beheaded,  and  any  one 
who  took  a  Jiawk's  nest,  and  destroyed  the  eggs  or  young 
was  sentenced  to  lose  his  eyes. 

The  New  Forest,  which  is  thirty  miles  in  circuit,  is  di- 
vided into  nine  walks ;  to  each  there  is  a  keeper,  two  ran- 
gers, a  bow  bearer,  and  a  lord  warden.  On  the  north 
side  of  Malwood  Castle  is  an  oak  that  buds  on  Christmas 
day  and  always  withers  before  night. 

The  bad  character  of  William  Rufus  is  attributed  to  a 
neglected  education :  an  historian  thus  describes  his  char- 
acter :  '  Bred  up  to  arms  from  his  youth,  and  at  a  cou-rt 
where  he  continually  beheld  instances  of  severity  and  ab- 
solute power,  he  became  a  perfect  brute  in  his  behavior 
and  manners.  He  was  of  a  very  ill  disposition,  which 
being  never  corrected  by  education,  frequently  led  him  in- 
to actions  un*vorthy  of  a  prince.  To  these  ill  qualities  he 
joined  a  great  contempt  for  religion  and  principles,  utter- 
ly regardless  of  honor  or  honesty.  He  was  as  greedv  of 
money  as  his  father,  only  he  disposed  of  it,  when  unjust- 
ly gained,  in  vain  expenses,  vvlierein  he  was  guided  more 
by  caprice  than  reason.  The  only  good  quality  remarka- 
ble in  him  was  his  great  courage,  which  however  wai 
scarcely  to  be  distingu'shed  from  a  brutal  fierceness.' 


260 
I1IST(JRICAL  SUMMARY 

TO 

WOLSEY   BRIDGE. 

Thomas  WoLSiiY  was  the  only  son  of  Thomas  anJ  Jo 
Rn  vVoisey,  and  was  bom  at  Ipswich,  in  August,  1471 
His  father  was  a  butcher  and  grazier.  The  house  in 
which  Wolsey  was  born  is  still  shown,  and  is  situated  in 
the  south  side  of  the  passage  leading  to  St.  Nicholas' 
churchyard;  and  in  the  ancient  shambles,  or  butchery, 
which  lately  stood  upon  the  Cortdiill,  at  Ipswich,  was  a 
stall,  or  stand,  with  the  initials  of  Wolsey's  father  carved 
thereon,  and  some  other  insignia  which  tradition  points  out 
as  belonging  to  him.  Wolsey's  father,  though  a  man  of 
a  low  trade,  was  in  opulent  circumstances,  afid  connected 
with  some  of  the  most  respectable  families  at  Ipswich,  ei- 
ther by  descent  or  marriage.  His  will  is  preserved,  where- 
in it  appears  that  he  left  his  lands  to  his  wife  Joan,  and 
the  rest  of  his  wealth  divided  between  his  wife  and  son, 
reserving  however  a  handsome  bequest  to  the  church  ot 
St.  Nicholas  and  the  poor  of  the  parish. 

There  are  floating  traditions  in  Sufiblk,  which  intimate 
that  the  butcher  Wolsey  was  desirous  that  his  son  should 
follow  his  own  trade,  and  in  pursuance  of  this  plan,  he 
made  him  assist  in  driving  the  beasts  he  caught  at  vari- 
ous markets  for  sale  and  slaughter  at  Ipi  wich.  In  one  ot 
these  expeditions  he  nearly  lost  his  life,  at  a  dangerous 
ford  at  Reydon,  over  a  branch  of  the  river  Blythe,  when 
drivino-  a  number  of  bullocks  which  had  been  purchased 
from  Reydon  salt  marshes  and  Southwold  common.  It 
is  further  said,  that  he  promised  on  the  spot,  '•  that  if  ever 
he  became  a  cardinal,  he  would  build  a  bridge  at  that  dan- 


HISTORICAL    SUMMARY.  261 

ge'ous  spot.'  Wolsey  kept  his  word,  and  when  he  arrived 
at  tlie  high  dignity  his  youtliful  ambition  even  then  aimed 
at,  he  built  a  bridge  at  Reydon,  which  is  to  this  day  called 
Woisey  Bridge. 

It  is  a  singular  thing,  that  a  though  forced  to  join  at 
times  the  inconsistent  occupations  of  a  drover  and  student, 
that  Wolsey  was  admitted  as  a  bachelor  of  arts  at  Mag 
dalen  College  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  from  which  extraor- 
dinary circumstance  he  was  called  the  Boy  Bachelor.     It 
must  be  observed,  that  students  were  entered  at  the  uni 
versities  much  earlier  in  former  times  than  is  usual  at  this 
era :  but  to  take  a  degree  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  justly  ex- 
cited universal  astonishment  throughout  the  kingdom,  in 
all  men  who  were  devoted  to,  or  interested  in  learning, 
and  Wolsey  Avas  marked  as  a  character  likely  to  rise  in 
the  church,  which  was  then  the  only  path  to  high  distinc- 
tion.    We  must  not  forget  to  note  here,  that  young  Wol- 
sey had  been  as  promising  at  Ipswich  school  as  he  was  as 
a  student  at  Magdalen  College ;  so  says  Lloyd,  one  of  his 
biographers.     The  first  step  to  his  subsequent  greatness  in 
the  state  was  his  appointment  to  the  situation  of  domestic 
chaplain  to  Henry  the  Seventh,  a  monarch  who  himself 
had  received  a  conventual  education,  and  was  a  discern 
ing  patron  of  learned  men,  knowing  well  how  to,  appro 
ciate  them.     There  were,  as  matters  stood  in  the  middle 
ages,  two  roads  in  the  church  to  great  distinction :  one  was, 
for  a  learned  priest  to  practise  great  austerity  and  sanctity, 
so  that  he  was  considered  a  saint  and  revered  by  all  men  ; 
and  the  other,  to  devote  himself  regularly  to  business  as  a 
statesman,  and  govern  church  and  state  as  prime  minister, 
which  was  done  in  England  by  whoever  held  the  office  oif 
lord  chancellor.     The  latter  path  was  chosen  by  Wolsey 
who  had  a  particular  inclination  to  a  jourt  life,  and  de- 


262  HISTORICAL    SUMMARY    TO 

dared,  thai '  if  he  could  set  one  foot  in  the  court,  he  woulc 
Boon  introduce  his  whole  body.' 

The  first  aflliir  of  state  in  which  he  was  concernec 
was  a  mission  from  Henry  the  seventh  to  Maximilian, 
Emperor  of  Germany,  who  was  then  at  Bruges.  After 
receiving  his  instructions  at  the  royal  palace  of  Shene 
(now  called  Richmond),  where  the  king  then  kept  court, 
he  set  out  on  his  errand.  We  must  consider  the  state  ol 
the  roads,  and  the  delays  of  travelling  at  that  time,  which 
were  so  great  that  a  journey  from  Ipswich  to  London  took 
at  least  a  week,  and  even  in  the  memory  of  man,  a  day 
and  night  was  spent  on  the  road  when  travelling  by  a 
stage  coach.  Therefore,  when  Wolsey  presented  himself 
before  Henry  the  Seventh  at  the  end  of  three  days,  that 
monarch  naturally  supposed  that  his  envoy  had  not  yet 
set  out,  but  had  returned  for  fresh  instructions,  and  he  be- 
gan to  reproach  him  for  his  dilatoriness,  when,  to  his  as- 
tonishment, Wolsey  declared  that  he  had  actually  been  at 
Bruges,  and  performed  his  mission  successfully.  '  Ay,' 
answered  the  king,  'but  upon  farther  deliberation,  finding 
that  something  had  been  omitted  in  your  instructions,  I  des- 
patched a  messenger  after  you  with  fuller  poAvers.'  Tc 
which  Wolsey  replied,  '  that  he  had  indeed  met  the  mes- 
senger on  his  return,  and  on  communicating  with  him, 
found  that  he  had  anticipated  the  viev/  that  Henry  had 
taken  of  the  business,  and  performed  his  negotiation  with 
the  emperor  precisely  according  to  Henry's  second 
theughts  of  the  affair,  so  that  there  was  no  need  of  a  sec- 
ond journey.'  Henry  was  highly  pleased  with  his  envoy's 
sagacity  and  promptitude,  and  with  its  favorable  issue:  he 
gave  him  pubhc  thanks,  and  declared  him  in  council  fit  te 
be  entrusted  with  the  management  of  affairs  of  the  ut- 
most importance.  He  "ewarded  him  with  the  deanery  ol 
Ijincoln,  and    the   jrebends  cf   Walton,  Brindhold,  and 


■WOLSEY    BRIDGE.  263 

Stow ,  and  to  complete  his  good  fortune,  his  graceful  and 
eloquent  relation  of  the  particulars  of  his  embassy  before 
the  council,  attracted  the  notice  of  the  prince  of  Wales, 
afterwards  Henry  the  eighth,  who  grew  from  that  time 
extremely  fond  of  his  company. 

Such  was  his  introduction  as  a  statesman.  From  the 
first  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  eigiith,  1509,  till  1529, 
the  butcher's  son  ruled  England  with  absolute  power,  and 
at  the  same  time  with  great  ability.  These  twenty  years 
was  the  happiest  epoch  of  Henry's  reign ;  for,  after  Wol- 
tey's  fall,  the  sovereign  commenced  a  career  of  crime,  and 
his  people  of  misery.  Wolsey  filled  the  high  offices  of 
Grand  Almoner,  Archbishop  of  York,  Lord  Chancellor, 
Pope's  Legate,  and  Cardinal.  He  carried  personal  splen- 
dor and  state  higher  than  any  subject  ever  did  before  or 
since,  and  would  most  likely  have  died  in  possession  of  all 
these  honors,  had  he  not  aimed  at  the  highest  then  in  the 
world,  even  at  the  Popedom;  but  his  intrigues  to  reach 
this  pinnacle  of  a  churchman's  ambition  lured  him  to  such 
imprudent  steps  as  caused  the  downfall  of  his  mighty  pow- 
er, and  a  few  weeks  after  he  died  of  grief  at  Leicester 
Abbey. 

The  munificent  public  works  executed  by  Wolsey,  both 
as  prime  minister  and  from  his  own  private  revenue,  are 
greater  perhaps  than  any  subject  ever  performed.  He  re- 
endowed  and  reformed  his  own  university  of  Oxford,  with 
such  magnificence,  that  he  is  almost  considered  as  its  foun- 
der, according  to  its  present  state.  His  love  for  his  native 
county  of  Sutfolk  was  great,  and  the  college  he  built  and 
endowed  in  his  mother  town  of  Ipswich,  is  a  proof  that  ha 
had  the  magnanimity  not  to  be  ashamed  of  his  origin* 
but  the  rapacious  tyrant,  whose  caprice  caused  his  down- 
fall, seized  upon  the  revenues  and  destroyed  the  infant  col 
lege    of  w  hich  only  one  of  the  gateways  remain.     But 


264  HISTORK^AL    SUMIMARY    TO 

perhapci  the  ir  ost  extraordinary  work  in  which  this  greal 
man  engaged,  was,  that  he  paitly  wrote  and  wholly  re- 
vised, LiUye's  grammar,  a  work  of  such  use  that  it  was  in 
general  use  within  the  last  century.  Such  was  the  love 
of  this  mighty  statesman  for  learning,  that  he  paused  in 
his  career  of  unbounded  power  and  pomp  to  smooth  the 
way  to  children  for  the  attainment  of  knowledge:  who, 
after  such  an  example,  need  be  ashamed  of  devoting  their 
talents  to  writing  children's  books  ! 

This  sketch  of  Wolsey  has  not  shown  the  dark  side  ot 
his  character,  which  was  deformed  with  many  faults,  and 
some  crimes.  Shakspeare  has  summed  up  the  account  oi 
both  good  and  ill,  with  such  skill  that  volumes  cannot  im- 
press upon  the  youthful  mind  a  more  accurate  comprehen- 
sion of  Wolsey's  character,  than  that  given  in  the  dia- 
logue between  Catherine  of  Arragon,  Henry  the  eighth's 
divorced  queen,  and  GrilFith,  her  chamberlain. 

CATHERINE. 

Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  Gritiith,  as  thou  led'st  me, 
That  the  great  child  of  honor,  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
Was  dead  ? 
Prithee,  good  Griffith,  tell  me  how  he  died. 

GRIFFITH. 

Well,  the  voice  goes,  madam : 
For  after  the  stout  Earl  Northumberland 
Arrested  him  at  York,  and  brought  him  forward 
(As  a  man  sore  tainted),  to  his  answer. 
He  fell  sick  suddenly,  and  grew  so  ill, 
He  could  net  sit  his  mule. 
At  last,  with  easy  roads,  he  came  to  Leicester, 
Lodg'd  in  the  abbey  ;  where  the  reverend  abbot, 
With  all  his  convent,  honorably  received  him ; 
To  VN'hom  he  gave  these  words, — '  0  father  abbot 
An  old  man.  broken  with  the  storms  of  state, 
Is  come  to  lay  his  weary  bones  among  ye  ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  charitv  ' ' 


TVOLSEY    BRIDGE.  268 

So  went  to  bed  ;  where  eagerly  his  sickness 
Piirt.u'd  him  still  ;  and  three  nights  aft;r  this, 
About   the  hour  of  eight  (which   he   himself 
Foretold  should  be  his  last),  inll  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows, 
He  gave  his  honors  to  the  world  again. 
His  bles&ed  part  to  heaven,  and  slept  in  peace. 

CATHERINE. 

So  may  he  rest  ;  his  faults  lie  gently  on  him  ! 
Yet  thus  far,  Griffith,  give  me  leave  to  speak  him, 
And  yet  with  charity  ; — He  was  a  man 
Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  ever  ranking 
Himseli'  with  princes  ;  one,  that  by  suggestion 
Tithed  all  the  kingdom  ;  simony  was  fair  play  ; 
His  own  opinion  was  his  law  :  I'the  presence 
He  would  say  untruths  ;  and  be  ever  double, 
Both  in  his  words  and  meaning  ;  He  was  never, 
But  where  he  meant  to  ruin,  pitiful  : 
His  promises  were  then  as  he  was,  mighty  ; 
But  his  performance  as  he  now  is,  nothing. 
Of  his  own  body  he  was  ill,  and  gave 
The  clergy  ill  example. 

GRIFFITH. 

Noble  madam, 
Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass  ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.     Slay  it  please  your  highness 
To  hear  me  speak  his  good  now  ? 

CATUERINS. 

Yes,  good  Griflath, 
I  were  malicious  else. 

GRIFFITH. 

This  cardinal, 
Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashioned  to  much  honor.     From  his  cradle 
He  was  a  good  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one  ; 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading  ; 
Lofiy,  and  sour,  to  them  that  lovea  him  not  ; 
But,  to  tjiose  men  that  sought  him,   sweet  as  sum/nei 


266  HISTORICAL    SUMMARS". 

And  though  he  were  unsatisfied  in  getting 
(Which   were  a  sin),  yet  in  bestowing,  madam, 
He  was  most  princely  :   Ever  witness  for  him 
Those  twins  of  learning,  which  he  raised   in  yon, 
Ipswich  and  Oxford  !    one  of  which  fell   with   him, 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  he  did  it  ; 
The  other,  though  unfinished,  yet  so  famous, 
So  excellent  in  art,  and  still  so  rising. 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue 
His  overthrow  heap'd  happiness  upon  him  ; 
For  then,   and  not  till  then,   he  felt  himself, 
And  found  the  blessedness  of  being   little  : 
And,  to  add  greater  honors  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died,  fearing  Goi 

CATHERINE. 

After  my  death  I  wish  no  other  herald, 
No  other  speaker  of  my  living  actions, 
To  keep  my  honor  from   corruption, 
But  such  an  honest  chronicler   as  Grifiith. 
Whom  I  most  hated  living,  thou  hast  made  in«, 
With  thy  religious  truth   and  modesty. 
Now  in  his  ashes  honor.    Peace  te  with  him ! 


267 


HISTORICAL  SUMMARY 

TO 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  THOMAS  MORE. 

Sib  Thomas  More  was  the  only  son  of  sir  John  More,  a 
judge  of  the  king's  bench,  and  was  born  in  Milk  street, 
London,  1480.  At  a  very  early  period  of  his  life  he  gave 
such  indications  of  the  talents  for  which  he  was  conspicu- 
ous, that  Cardinal  Morton*,  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in 
whose  household  he  was  placed,  prophetically  remarked, 
*  This  child,  here  waiting  at  table,  whosoever  shall  live  to 
see  it,  will  prove  a  marvellous  man  !'  The  young  reader 
must  note  from  this  anecdote  the  peculiar  manners  of  those 
days.  Sir  Thomas  More  was  then  a  judge's  son,  and  yet 
he  was  servitor  at  the  cardinal's  table.  In  ancient  times 
the  tyro,  either  in  arms  or  learning,  let  his  birth  or  rank  in 
life  be  what  it  might,  during  his  noviciate,  ever  waited  on 
his  elders,  and  supposed  betters  in  learning  or  wisdom , 
and  even  at  the  piesent  day,  in  all  schools  and  establish- 
ments of  monastic  institution,  as  Eton,  Winchester,  or 
Westminster,  some  faint  traces  may  still  be  discovered  of 
this  antique  system,  which  has  now  degenerated  into  the 
capricious  and  irregular  custom  of  fagging. 

Sir  Tiiomns  More  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  Ox- 
ford, after  which  he  entered  the  inns  of  court,  which  were 
tiien,  whatever  they  may  be  now,  the  finishing  school  of 
moral  worth  and  high  attainment  for  the  young  nobles  and 
gentry  of  England,  whether  their  intention  was  to  devote 
themselves  to  a  legal  profession,  or  to  arms,  or  the  senate, 

•  This   excellent    prelate    has   already  been  introduced  to  the  jnxeniU 
taller,  in  a  pr'eceding  tale,  under  the  name  of  Dr   Morton,  Bishop  of  Eiy. 


269  HISTORICAL  SUMMARY  TO 

Young  More's  destination  was  to  the  former,  for  we  find 
him  called  to  the  bar,  when  a  student  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  and 
he  followed  hia  profession  with  the  greatest  success.  In 
1502,  he  became  a  member  of  parliament,  and  dislin- 
guished  himself  in  such  a  manner,  in  opposing  a  grant  for 
the  marriage  of  Henry  the  seventh's  daughter  to  the  king 
of  Scotland,  James  the  fourth,  that  the  king  was  told,  a 
beardless  boy  had  prevented  its  being  passed ;  in  revenge 
for  which,  Henry  the  seventh  had  the  meanness  to  send 
young  More's  father,  the  judge,  to  the  Tower,  for  some 
pretended  offence,  from  whence  he  was  not  set  at  liberty 
till  he  was  heavily  fined.  When  Henry  the  eighth  as- 
cended the  throne,  the  fame  of  young  More's  abilities  and 
eloquence  having  reached  his  ears,  his  majesty  persuaded 
him  to  enter  his  service,  and  immediately  gave  him  the 
situation  of  master  of  requests,  soon  after  knighted  him, 
and  made  him  a  member  of  his  privy  council.  His  wit 
and  universal  talents  so  effectually  gained  the  favor  of  his 
sovereign,  that  he  treated  him  with  extraordinary  conde- 
scension and  familiarity,  of  which  many  stories  are  told. 
In  1518,  sir  Thomas  became  treasurer  of  tiie  exchequer, 
and  five  years  afterwards  was  chosen  speaker  of  the  house 
of  commons ;  having  filled  several  other  high  offices  with 
invariable  credit  and  success,  Henry  selected  him,  in  1529, 
to  be  tiie  successor  to  cardinal  Wolsey,  as  lord  chancellor, 
being  the  first  layman  that  had  ever  filled  that  exalted 
office. 

After  executing  that  high  charge  with  singular  zeal 
and  impartiality,  he  resigned  it  in  May,  1532,  because  he 
would  not  countenance  the  destruction  of  a  church  to 
which  he  was  a  most  faithful  and  devoted  servant.  Hia 
retirement  was  not  attended  with  the  security,  either  to  his 
person  or  his  conscience,  wliich  might  have  been  anticipa- 
ted; for,  ha\ing  unitbrmly  opposed  Henry's  divorce  frora 


THE    JUDGMENT    OF  SIR  T.  IMORE.  269 

Catherine  of  Arragon,  he  rendered  himself  obnoxious,  bcth 
to  his  master  and  the  new  queen,  and  b)''  refusing  to  at- 
tend Ann  Boleyn's  coronation,  his  doom  was  sealed.  A 
crisis  was  at  hand  from  which  no  honest  man  of  the  cath- 
olic religion  could  escape.  In  1534,  the  Act  of  Suprem- 
acy appeared,  and  sir  Thomas  More,  sincerely  attached  to 
the  faith  of  his  ancestor,  refused  to  swerve  from  it.  He 
was  imprisoned,  arraigned  of  high  treason,  and  on  the 
most  scandalous  testimony,  pronounced  guilty.  The  usu- 
al penalty  of  being  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  was 
commuted  into  simple  decapitation,  a  boon  which  sir  Thom- 
as More  acknowledged  by  one  of  those  lively  sallies  foi 
which  he  was  as  celebrated  as  for  his  graver  talents  : 

'  God  forbid,'  said  he, '  the  king  should  use  any  more 
such  mercy  to  any  of  my  friends;  and  God  bless  my  pos- 
terity from  such  pardons.' 

He  was  beheaded  at  Tower  Hill,  on  Tuesday,  the  6th 
July,  1535,  being  then  in  his  fifty-fifih  year,  and  suffered, 
not  only  with  fortitude,  but  with  clieerfulness. 

Sir  Thomas  More  amidst  all  the  cares  of  state,  spared 
time  to  devote  to  the  superintendence  of  the  education  of 
his  children,  and  he  was  amply  rewarded,  since  his  throe 
daughters  were  the  pride  of  their  sex  and  their  country 
for  their  high  attainments  and  many  virtues ;  even  his 
step-daughter,  likewise  much  beloved  by  him,  manifested 
great  e.xcellence  of  character,  and  showed  a  tender  regard 
for  him  in  his  misfortunes.  His  great-grandson,  Cresa- 
cre  More,  wrote  the  life  of  his  noble  progenitor,  which  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  biographies  ever  penned.  From 
it  we  learn  some  interesting  particulars  of  his  life  and 
family.  Among  others,  the  anecdote  on  which  the  accom- 
panying story  is  founded.  'It  happened,' says  Cresacre 
More,  '  on  a  time,  that  a  beggar  woman's  dog,  whicli  she 
24 


270  HISTORICAL  SUMMARY  TO 

had  lost,  was  presented  for  a  jewel  to  my  lady  More,  ano 
she  had  kept  it  some  seven-night  very  careluUy  ;  but  at 
last  the  ))eggar  had  notice  where  her  dog  was,  and  pres- 
ently she  came  to  complain  to  sir  Thomas,  that  his  lady 
withheld  her  dog  from  her ;  presently  my  lady  was  sent 
for,  and  the  dog  brought  with  her:  wliicli  sir  Thomas  ta- 
king in  his  hands,  caused  his  wife,  because  she  was  the 
woi  thier  person,  to  stand  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  and 
the  beggar  at  the  lower  end,  and  saying  that  he  sat  there 
to  do  justice,  he  bade  each  of  them  to  call  the  dog,  which 
when  they  did,  the  dog  went  presently  to  the  beggar,  for- 
saking my  lady.  When  he  saw  this,  he  bade  my  lady  be 
contented,  for  the  dog  was  none  of  hers ;  yet  she,  repi- 
ning at  the  sentence  of  my  lord  chancellor,  agreed  with 
the  beggar,  and  gave  her  a  piece  of  gold  which  would 
well  have  bought  three  dogs,  and  so  all  parties  were  a- 
greed,  every  one  smiling  to  see  his  manner  of  inquiring 
out  the  truth.' 

Let  all  disunited  families  study  with  care  this  beautiful 
sketch  of  a  household  of  love,  as  given  by  an  eye  witness, 
sir  Thomas's  friend,  the  great  Erasmus:  'More  hath 
built,  near  London,  upon  the  Thames'  side,  to  wit,  at  Chel- 
sea, a  commodious  house,  neither  mean  nor  subject  to  en- 
vy, and  yet  magnificent  enough  ;  there  he  converseth  af- 
fably with  his  family,  his  wife,  his  son  and  daughter-in 
law,  his  three  daughters  and  their  husbands,  with  eleven 
grandchildren.  'J'here  is  not  any  man  so  loving  to  hia 
children  as  he,  and  he  loveth  his  old  wife  as  well  as  if  she 
were  a  young  maid ;  and  such  is  the  excellency  of  his 
temper,  that  whatsoever  happeneth  that  could  not  be  help- 
ed, he  loveth  it  as  though  nothing  could  have  happened 
more  happily.  You  would  say,  there  were  in  that  place 
Plato's  acadeny;  but  I  do  the  house  injury  in  comparing 
it  »o  Plato's  academy,  wherein  there  was  only  disputations 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORa  271 

Dl'  members,  or  geometrical  figures,  and  sometimes  of  mor- 
al virtues.  I  should  rather  call  his  house  a  school  of  the 
Christian  religion  ;  their  special  care  is  piety  and  virtue ; 
there  is  no  quarrelUng,  or  intemperate  words  heard  ;  none 
Been  idle ;  which  household  discipline  that  worthy  gentle- 
man doth  not  govern  by  proud  and  lofty  words,  but  with 
all  kind  and  courteous  benevolence.  Every  body  perform- 
eth,  yet  is  there  always  alacrity,  neither  is  sober  mirth  any 
thing  wanting.  He  suffereth  none  of  his  servants  either 
to  be  idle  or  to  give  themselves  to  games,  but  some  of 
them  he  allotted  to  look  to  the  garden,  assigning  to  every 
one  his  separate  plot ;  some  again  he  set  to  sing,  some  to 
play  on  the  organs ;  he  suffereth  none  of  them  touch  cards 
or  dice.  He  used,  before  bed  time,  to  call  them  together, 
and  say  certain  prayers  with  them.'  This  life  of  domes- 
tic felicity  was  suddenly  destroyed  by  the  decree  of  a  ty- 
rant; and  the  mandate  which  consigned  the  most  accom- 
plished indivic'ual  in  the  English  dominions  to  the  scaffold, 
carried  desolation  to  all  who  depended  on  him,  gave  hia 
lands  to  a  stranger,  and  his 

Once  fair  spreading  family  dissolved.' 

Amidst  this  most  estimable  and  distinguished  fiimily, 
none  shone  with  greater  lustre  than  Margaret,  the  eldest 
daughter  and  most  beloved  pupil  of  sir  Thomas  More. 
She  resembled  him  in  person  more  nearly  than  the  rest  of 
his  children,  and  in  the  depth  and  acuteness  of  her  under- 
standing. She  was  the  dispenser  of  her  father's  secret 
charities,  and  to  her  alone  he  entrusted  the  knowledge  of 
the  severe  religious  austerities  to  which  he  subjected  him- 
Belf  A  most  affecting  scene  took  place  between  the  fa 
ther  and  daughter  on  his  return  from  the  Tower  after  his 
condemnation,  which  it  would  be  a  want  of  ji-dgmentto 
Jescnbe  in  any  ether  words  than  those  of  her  ixusband's, 


272  HISTORICAL    SUMMARY    TO 

Mr.  Roper,  a  most  accomplished  gentleman,  wortliy  of  be- 
ing tlui  son-in-law  of  sir  Thomas  More  : 

'  When  sir  Thomas  came  from  Westminster  to  the 
Tower  ward  again,  his  daughter,  my  wife,  desirous  to  see 
her  father,  whom  she  thought  slie  should  never  see  in  thia 
world  after,  and  also  to  have  his  final  blessing,  gave  atten- 
dance about  the  Tower  wharf,  where  she  knew  he  would 
pass  by  before  he  c^uld  enter  the  Tower.  Tiiere  tarrying 
his  coming,  as  soo:;  -i-  -he  saw  him,  after  his  blessing  up- 
on her  knees  reverently  recei/e(i,  she  hasting  towards  him, 
without  consideration  or  care  of  herself,  pressing  in  a- 
mongst  the  midst  of  the  throng  and  company  of  the  guard, 
that  with  halberds  and  bills  went  round  about  him,  hastily 
ran  to  him,  who,  well  liking  her  most  natural  and  dear 
daughterly  affection  towards  him,  gave  her  his  fatherly 
blessing,  and  many  godly  words  of  comfort  besides.  From 
whom  when  she  turned  to  depart,  she,  not  satisfied  with  the 
former  sight  of  her  dear  father,  and  like  one  that  had  for- 
gotten herself,  being  all  transported  with  the  entire  love  of 
her  dear  father,  having  neither  heed  to  herself  nor  the 
press  of  people  and  multitude  that  were  there  about  him, 
suddenly  turned  back  again,  ran  to  him  as  before,  took  him 
about  the  neck,  and  divers  times  kissed  him  most  lovingly, 
and  at  last,  with  a  full  and  heavy  heart,  was  fain  to  de 
part  from  him ;  the  beholding  whereof  was  to  many  of 
them  that  were  present  thereat  so  lamentable,  that  it  made 
them,  for  very  sorrow  thereof,  to  weep  and  mourn.' 

The  morning  before  he  suffered,  sir  Thomas  Avrote  to 
his  dear  daughter  the  following  letter,  with  a  piece  of 
charcoal,  in  the  blank  leaf  of  one  of  his  works.  Besides 
its  intrinsic  excellence,  the  allusions  it  contains  to  the  per- 
sons composing  his  once  happy  family  circle,  maks  it  deep- 
y  interesting : 

'  Our  Lord  bless  you,  good  daughter,  and  your  good 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  273 

husband,  and  your  little  boy,  and  all  yourp,  and  all  my 
children,  and  all  my  god  children,  and  all  our  friends. 
Recommend  me,  when  ye  may,  to  my  good  daughter  Ce- 
cily*, whom  I  beseech  the  Lord  to  comfort ;  and  I  send 
"ler  my  blessing,  and  to  all  her  children,  and  pray  her  to 
pray  for  me.  I  send  her  a  handkerchief,  and  God  comfort 
my  good  son,  her  husband.  My  good  daughter  Daunceyf 
hath  the  picture  in  parchment,  that  you  delivered  me  from 
my  lady  Coniers ;  her  name  is  on  the  back.  Show  her 
that  I  heartily  pray  her,  that  you  may  send  it  m  my  name 
to  her  again,  for  a  token  from  me,  to  pray  for  me.  I  like 
special  well  Dorothy  CollieJ :  I  pray  you  be  good  to  her. 
I  would  wot  whether  this  be  she  that  you  wrote  me  of;  if 
not,  yet  I  pray  you  be  good  to  the  other  as  you  may,  in 
her  affliction,  and  to  my  daughter  Joan  Alleyn  too||. 
Give  her,  I  pray  you  some  kind  answer,  for  she  sued  hith- 
er to  me  this  day  to  pray  you  to  be  good  to  her.  I  cum- 
ber you,  good  Margaret,  much  ;  but  I  would  be  sorry  if  it 
should  be  any  longer  than  to-morrow,  for  it  is  St.  Thom- 
as's eve,  and  the  utas  of  St.  Peter,  and  therefore  to-mor- 
row long  I  to  go  to  God.  It  were  a  day  meet  and  conve- 
nient for  me.  I  never  liked  your  manners  towards  me  better 
than  when  you  kissed  me  last,  for  /  love  when  daughter- 
ly love  and  dear  charity  hath  no  leisure  to  stay  for  world- 
ly courtesy.^.  Farewell ,  my  dear  child,  and  pray  for  me, 
and  I  shall  for  j^ou  and  all  your  friends,  that  we  may  mer- 
rily meet  in  Heaven.     I  thank  you  for  your  great  cost. 

*  Mrs.  Heron,  his  third  daughter. 

!His  second  daughter,  Elizabeth. 
A  beloved  servant  in  the  family,  who  married  another  faithful  retnio 
er  of  sir  TiiomaH,  his  secretary,  John    Harris.     It  is  a  redeeming  trait  la 
fiuman  nature  that  so  many  persons  should  have  been  affectionate  and  ttaa 
ai  the  trying  hour  of  adversity. 
IJ  A  servant  of  Mrs.  Ro|  er,  his  god-daughter. 

^  In  this  beautiful  sentence  he  alludes  to  their  last  interview  on  Towet 
Wharf 


274  HISTORICAL    SUMMARY. 

I  send  no\v  to  my  god  daughter  ClementJ,  her  algormise 
Btone,  and  I  send  her  and  my  godson,  and  aK  her  children, 
God's  blessing  and  mine.  I  pray  you,  at  time  convenient, 
commend  me  to  my  good  son  John  More.  I  liked  well 
his  natural  fashion.*  Our  Lord  bless  him  and  his  wife. 
tny  loving  daughter,  to  whom  I  pray  him  to  be  good,  aa 
he  hath  great  cause ;  and  if  that  the  land  of  mine  come 
into  his  hand,  he  brake  not  my  will  concerning  his  sister 
Dauncey:  and  our  Lord  bless  Thomas  and  Austin  (hia 
sons),  and  all  that  they  have.' 

It  was  one  of  the  last  requests  of  sir  Thomas  More  to 
Henry  the  eighth,  that  his  daughter  Margaret  might  at- 
tend his  funeral.  In  defiance  of  the  danger  which  atten- 
ded the  act,  she  bought  the  head  of  her  honored  parent, 
when  it  was  about  to  be  thrown  into  the  Thames ;  and 
when  brought  before  the  privy  council,  and  harshly  ques- 
tioned concerning  this  act,  and  why  slie  did  it,  she  replied 
boldly,  '  That  it  might  not  become  food  for  fishes.'  She 
died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-six  ;  and  by  her  own  desire 
she  was  buried  with  her  father's  head  on  her  bosom. 

A  fine  family  picture  of  all  these  interesting  person- 
ages, by  Holbein,  is  still  in  existence,  likewise  engravings 
from  it.  In  this  picture  is  introduced  the  portrait  of  the 
beggar-girl's  dog,  on  which  the  accompanying  tale  is 
founded. 

Alice  lady  More,  although  not  a  pleasant  mannered  or 
sweet  tempered  woman,  must  have  possessed  some  gjod 
qualities,  as  she  was  an  excellent  stepmother  to  sir  Tho:n- 
as's  motherless  children,  as  we  learn  from  some  verses  of 
his  translated  from  the  Latin,  in  which  he  wrote  them,  by 

I  The  wife  of  Dr.  Clement,  his  waid  and  relative,  and  beloved  aa  • 

laughter 

•  He  li  ewiso  met  his  father  at  Tower  Wharf, 


THE   JUDGMENT  OF  SIR  T.  MORE.  275 

arch'!eacon  Wmngham.     They  were  meant  for  an  ept 
taj  h  on  Jiis  first  and  second  wives. 

Wii/iiii  this  tomb  Jane,  wife  of  More,  reclines  j 
This,  More  for  Alice  and  himself  designs. 
The  first,  dear  object  of  my  youthful  vow, 
Gave  me  three  daughters  and  a  son  to  know  ; 
The  next, — ah,  virtue  in  a  step-dame  rare, — 
Nursed  my  eweet  infants  with  a  mother's  care. 
With  both  my  years  so  happily  have  pass'd. 
Which  moat  my  love  I  know  not — first  or  last. 

The  worthies  of  sir  Thomas  More's  family  are  not  yet 
enumerated.  Mrs.  Roper's  daughter,  Mrs.  Bazett,  was 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  and  pious  ladies  of  her  time, 
and  translated  from  the  Latin  her  grandfather's  '  Exposi- 
tion of  our  Savior's  Passion,'  in  a  style  so  like  his  own 
that  for  some  time  many  believed  it  to  be  his  composition. 
Enc^land  still  possesses  descendants  from  this  most  illu*- 
Vjoufl  branch  of  the  family. 


276 

HISTORICAL  SUMMARY 

TO 

LADY    LUCY'S     PETITION. 

The  conspiracy  against  the  government  of  William  the 
third,  and  to  effect  the  restoration  of  his  exiled  father-in- 
.aw,  James  the  second,  for  which  lord  Preston  and  his 
friend,  Mr.  Ashton,  were  condemned  to  death,  took  place, 
m  1692. 

Sir  John  Dalrymple  relates  the  anecdote  of  the  coura- 
geous child  of  lord  Preston,  in  his  Memoirs.  Ashton  waa 
put  to  death,  but  the  presence  of  mind  of  the  young  lady 
Baved  lord  Preston's  lile. 

Her  name  was  Catherine,  and  not  Lucy.  Her  broth- 
er Edward  dying  young,  she,  with  her  two  sisters,  be- 
came her  father's  co-heiresses;  at  seventeen  she  married 
a  gallant  young  nobleman,  the  son  of  Lord  Widrington, 
with  whom  she  led  a  most  happy  life.  Her  memory  ii 
Btill  greatly  respected  for  her  virtues  and  talents,  in  Lan 
cashire,  her  native  county. 


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able in  sev'  lal  wavs.  If  incliub^s  the  most  important  and  decisive  period  of 
the  war,  and  the  two  gre;it  caiu|.>aigns  of  Gettysburg  atjd  Vicksburg. 

"The  great  civil  war  has  had  no  better,  no  abb-r  historian  than  the  French 
prince  who,  emulating  the  example  of  Lafayette,  took  part  iu  tbis  uhw 
struggle  for  freedom,  and  who  now  writes  of  events,  in  many  of  which  he 
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stances and  relations  which  gave  him  almost  unequalled  opportunities  to 
gain  correct  information  aud  form  impartial  Jmlgm-nfs. 

"The  new  installment  of  a  work  wiiieb  has  already  become  a  classic  will 
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the  period  it  covers  and  the  stirring  events  it  describes.  In  advance  of  a 
careful  review  we  present  to-day  some  extracts  from  the  advance  sheets  sent 
us  by  Messrs.  Porter  &  Coates,  which  will  give  our  readers  a  forwaste  of 
chapters  which  bring  back  to  memory  so  many  half-forgotten  and  not  a  few 
hitherto  unviilued  details  of  a  time  which  Americans  of  this  generation  at 
least  cannot  read  of  without  a  fresh  thrill  of  excitement." 


PORTER  &  COATES     PUBLICATIONS. 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  BEST  AUTHORS.    With  short  Bi- 
osraphical  and  Critical  Notes.     By  Charles  Kxigut. 

New  Household  Edition.  With  six  portraits  on  steel.  3  vols., 
thick  12uio.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  per  set,  $1.50;  half  imfe. 
Russia,  marl)led  edges,  $6.00;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges.  $l-2,O0i 

Library  Edition.  Printed  ou  fine  laid  and  tinted  paper.  Witb 
twentv-four  partraits  on  steel.  6  vols.,  12mo.  Cloth,  e^tra,  per 
Bet,  $7..50;  half  caif,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $18.00;  half  Ru.s- 
sia,  gilt  t<3p,  $21.00;  full  French  morocco,  limp,  per  set,  $12.00; 
full  smooth  Russia,  limp,  round  corners,  in  Russia  case,  p  r  set, 
$25.00;  full  seal  grained  Russia,  limp,  round  corners,  in  Russia 
case  to  match,  .$25.00. 

The  excellent  idea  of  the  pditor  of  th^sr?  choice  yolumos  lias  ber-n  mo^t 
admirably  carried  out,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  list  of  authors  upoa  all  siit>- 
jects.  Si'loctlng  some  choice  passages  of  tb'^  best  standard  authors,  each  ofsLiffi- 
cient  length  to  occupy  half  an  hour  in  its  perusal,  there  is  hero  food  for 
thought  for  every  day  in  the  year:  so  that  if  the  purcbas'r  will  d  n-ota  but 
one-half  hour  each  day  to  its  appropriate  selection  he  will  read  throu'^b 
these  six  vobim  s  in  one  year,  and  in  such  a  l"i-nrely  nianniT  that  the 
noblest  thoughts  of  many  of  the  greatpst  minds  will  be  firmly  in  his  mind 
forever  For  ivery  Sunday  there  is  a  snitahlj  selection  from  some  of  the 
most  eminent  writers  in  sacred  literature.  We  venture  to  say  if  the  editor's 
idea  is  carried  out  the  re  ider  will  possess  mor?  and  b  tter  kuowledife  of  tht? 
English  classics  at  the  end  of  tbj  year  than  he  would  by  five  years  of  desul< 
tory  readin:^. 

They  can  be  commenced  at  any  day  in  the  year.  The  variety  of  reading 
is  so  great  that  uo  oue  will  ever  lire  of  these  volumes.  It  is  a  library  ia 
itself. 

THE  POETRY  OF  OTHER  LAXDS.    A  Collection  of  Transla- 
tlons  into    Euglisli  Verse  of  the   Poetry  of  Other  Languages, 
Ancient  and   Modern.      Compiled  by  N.  Clemmoxs   Hunt. 
Containing  translations  from  the  Greek,  LatiUj  Persian,  Ara- 
bian, Japanese,  Turkish,  S -rvian,  Russian,  Bolieiuian,  Polish, 
Dutch,   German,   Italian,    French,   Spanish,   and    Portuguese 
languages.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  gilt  edges.  S2.50;  half  calf,  gilt, 
marbled  edges,  $  1.00 ;  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  edges,  $3.00. 
"  Another  of  the  publications  of  Porter  &  Coates,  called  'The  Poetry  of 
Other  Lands,'  compiled  by  N.  Clemmons  Hunt,  we  most  warmly  commend. 
It  is  one  of  the  bc^st  collections  we  have  seen,  containing  n>any  exquisite 
poems  and  fragments  of  verse  which  have  not  bpfore  been  put  into  bol)k 
form  in  Engli-h   words.     We  find  many  of  the  old  favoriii'S,  which  appear 
in  every  well-selected  collection  of  soniiets  and  soug<,  and  we  miss  others, 
which  seem  a  neoi\ssity  to  complete  the  bouquet  of  grasses  and  flowera, 
some  of  which,  from  time  to  time,  we  hope  to  republish  in  the  'Courier.  ''■— 
Cincinnnii  Courier. 

"A  book  of  rare  excell  'nee,  because  it  gives  a  collection  of  choice  gems  in 
many  languages  not  available  to  the  general  lover  of  poetry.  It  cmtaina 
trauslatio!is  from  the  Greek,  Latin,  Persian,  Arabian,  .Japanes;',  Turkish, 
,Sf;rvian,  Russian,  Bohemian,  Polish,  Dutch,  German,  Italian,  I'rench, 
Bpanish,  and  Portuguese  languages.  The  book  will  be  an  admirable  com- 
panion volume  to  any  one  of  the  collections  of  Enirlish  poetry  that  are  new 
Jmblished.  With  the  full  index  of  authors  immediately  preceding  the  col- 
ection,  and  the  arrangetaent  of  the  poems  under  headings,  the  re:ider  will 
find  it  convenient  for  reference.  Ii  is  a  gift  that  will  be  more  valued  by 
very  many  than  some  of  the  transitory  ones  at  these  holiday  times."— 
i'hiladelpUia  Methodist. 


5  PORTER  &  COATES'    PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  FIEESIDE  ENCYCLOPEDIA  OF  POETRY.  Edited  by 
Henry  T.  Coates.  This  is  the  latest,  aud  beyond  doubt  the 
best  collection  of  poetry  published.  Priuted  on  fine  paper  and 
illustrated  with  thirteen  steel  engravings  and  fifteen  title 
pages,  containing  portraits  of  prominent  American  poets  and 
fac-similes  of  their  l»and\vriting,  made  expressly  for  tliis  book, 
8vo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  gilt  edges,  $5.00,-  half  calf. 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  $7.50;  half  morocco,  full  gilt  edges,  $7.50; 
full  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  edges,  $10.00;  tree  calf,  gilt  edges 
$1-2.00;  plush,  padded  side,  nickel  lettering,  $14.00. 

"Tlie  editor  shows  a  wide  acquaintanoe  with  the  most  precious  treasurrs 
»f  English  verse,  and  has  gathfred  the  ino^t  admirabh' s]jeciin(iis  <jf  their 
ainplo  wealth.  Many  pieces  which  have  been  passed  by  in  previous  collec- 
tions hold  a  place  of  honor  in  the  present  volume,  and  will  he  heartily  wel- 
CDined  by  the  lovers  of  poetry  as  a  deliRlitfiil  a<iditi(in  to  their  sources  of 
eujoyinent.  It  is  a  volume  rich  in  solace,  in  enteriainnient,  in  inspiralion, 
of  which  the  possession  may  well  be  coveted  by  every  lover  of  poetry  The 
pictoriallUustrations  of  the  work  are  in  keeping  with  its  poeticiil  contents, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  typographical  execution  entitles  it  to  a  jilace  among 
the  choicest  ornaments  of  the  library  ."—AViiw  York  Trihvne. 

"Lovers  of  good  poetry  will  find  fh.is  one  of  the  richest  collecMons  ever 
made.  AH  the  best  singers  in  our  language  are  r;  presented,  and  the  selec- 
tions are  generally  those  which    reveal  their   highest  qualities The 

lights  and  sliades,  the  tiner  play  of  thought  and  imagination  belonging  to 
individual  authors,  are  br  lught  out  in  this  way  (by  the  arrangement  of 
poems  under  suliject-headinus)  as  tliey  would  not  be  under  any  other  sys- 
tem  We  are  deepiy  impressed  with  (he  keen  appreciation  of  poeiical 

worth,  and  also  with  the  good  taste  manifested  by  the  coiupiler." — Church- 
man. 

"Cyclopaedias  of  poetry  are  nuni'^rous,  but  for  >terling  value  of  its  contents 
for  the  library,  or  as  a  h  lok  of  reference,  no  work  of  the  kind  will  compare 
with  this  admirable  volume  of  Jlr.  Coates  It  takes  the  geius  from  many 
volumes,  culling  with  niro  skill  and  judgment." — Chicago  Inler-Ocean. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  BOOK  OF  POETRY.     Compiled  by  Henrv 
T.  Coates.      Containing   over   500   poems  carefully  selected 
from  the  v/orks  of  tlie  best  and  most  popular  writers  for  chil- 
dren; with  nearly  200  illu.strations.     The  most  complete  col- 
lection of  poetry  for  chihlren  ever   published.     4to.     Cloth, 
extra,  black  and  gold,  gilt  side  and  edges,  $3.00;  full  Turkey 
morocco,  gilt  edges,  $7.50. 
"This  s"ems  to  us  the  best  book  of  poetry  for  children  in  existence.    We 
have  examined  n:anv  other  collections,  but  we  cannot  name  another  that 
deservi^s  to  be  compared  v/ith  tliis  admirable  compilation." — Wtircester  Spy. 
"The  special  value  of  the  book  lies   in   the   fact  that  it  nearly  or  quite 
covers  the  entire  field.     There  is  not  a  gri'at  d  al  of  jrood  poetry  whicli  has 
been  written  for  children  that  cannot  be  found  in  this  book.   The  collection 
is  particularly  strong  in  ballads  and  tnUs,  which  are  apt  to  interest  children 
more  than  po'^ms  of  other  kinds;  and  Mr.  Coates  has  shown  good  judgtiiont 
in  supplementing  this  department  with  some  of  the  best  poems  of  that  ch.ss 
that  have  been  written  for  crown  people.     A  surer  method  of  forming  the 
taste-of  children  for  good  and  purc^  literature  than  by  reading  to  them  from 
any  portion  of  this  book  can   hardly  be  imatrined.      Tlie  volume  is  richly 
illustrated  and  beautifully  l)0und." — P/iiladel/ihia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"A  more  excellent  volume  cannot  he  found.  We  have  found  within  the 
covers  of  this  handsome  volume,  and  upon  its  fair  pages,  many  of  the  most 
exquisite  po'ms  which  our  language  contains.  It  mti.st  become  a  standajsA 
volume,  and  can  nevjr  grow  old  or  obsolete." — Episcopal  Recorder. 


PORTER  &  COATES'   PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  THOS.  HOOD.  With  enjiravinss 
ou  steel.     4  vols.,  12ino.,  tinted  paper.     Poetical  Works ;   Up 
the  Rhine;    Miscellanies  and  Hood's  Own;    Wliimsicalities, 
Whims,  and   Oddities.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gokl,  Sij.OO; 
red  cloth,  paper  label,  gilt  top,  uncut  edges,  $6.00;    half  calf, 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  $14.00;  half  Russia,  gilt  top,  .$18.00. 
Hood's  v«rse,  whetlier  serious  or  comic — whether  sereiio  like  a  cloudlesg 
autumn  ereuing  or  sparkliug  with   puns  litee  a  frosty  January  midnight 
with  stars — was  ever  pregnant  with  materiiUs  fur  tlie  thought.     Like  every 
Kuthor  distinguished  for  true  coiuie  humor,  there  was  a  deep  vein  of  melan- 
choly pathos  running  through   his  mirth,  and  even   when  his  sun  slione 
brightly  its  light  seemeil  often  reflected  as  if  only  over  the  rim  of  a  cloud. 

Well  may  we  say,  in  the  words  of  Tennyson,  "Would  he  could  have 
staved  with  us."  for  never  could  it  be  more  truly  recorded  of  any  one — in 
the  words  of  Hamlet  characterizing  Yorick— thai  "he  was  a  f<lfow  of  in- 
finite jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy."  D.  M.  Moir. 

THE  ILIAD  OF  HO:\IER  RENDERED  INTO  ENGLLSH 
BLANK  VERSE.  By  Edward,  Eakl  of  Dekby.  From 
the  latest  London  edition,  with  all  the  author's  hist  revisions 
and  corrections,  and  with  a  Biographical  Sketch  of  Lord 
Derbj',  by  R.  Sheltox  M.^ckenzie,  D.C.L.  With  twelve 
steel  en.sravings  from  Flaxman's  celebrated  designs.  2  vols., 
r2mo.  Cloth,  extra,  be  v.  boards,  gilt  top,  §3.50;  lialf  calf,  gilt, 
marbled  edges,  S7.00;  half  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  top,  .$7.00. 

The  same.  Popular  edition.  Two  vols,  iu  one.  12mo.  Cloth, 
extra,  $1  50. 

"  It  must  equally  he  considerel  a  splendid  performance;  and  for  the  pres- 
ent we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  is  by  far  tlie  best  representation 
of  Homer's  Iliad  in  the  Englisli  language." — London  Times. 

"The  merits  of  Lord  Derby's  translation  may  be  summed  up  in  one  word, 
it  is  eminently  attractive;  it  is  instinct  with  life;-  it  may  be  read  with  fervent 
interest;  it  is  immeasurably  nearer  than  Pope  to  the  text  of  the  original  . 
.  .  .  Lord  Derby  has  given  a  versiou  far  more  closely  allied  to  the  original, 
and  superior  to  any  that  has  yet  been  attempted  in  the  blank  verse  of  our 
language." — Edi-nbwg  Review. 

THE  WORKS  OF  FLAVIUS  JOSEPHUS.  Comprising  the  Anti- 
quities of  the  Jews;  a  History  of  the  Jewish  Wars,  and  a  Life 
of  Flavius  Josephu^,  written  by  himself.  Translated  from  the 
original  Greek,  by  Willi.am  Whiston,  A.M.  Together  with 
numerous  explanatory  Notes  and  seven  Dissertations  concern- 
ing Jesus  Clirist,  John  the  Baptist,  James  the  Just,  God's  com- 
mand to  Abraliam,  etc.,  witli  an  Introdtietory  Essay  l)y  Rev. 
H.  Stebbin'G,  D.D.  8vo.  Cloth,  ext-i-a,  black  and  .sold,  plain 
edges,  $3.00;  cloth,  red,  l)lack  and  gold,  gilt  edges,  $4. ,50;  sheept 
marbled  edges,  $3.50;  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  edges,  $8.00. 
This  is  the  largest  type  one  voluiue  edition  published. 

THE  ANCIENT  HISTORY  OF  THE  EGYPTIANS,  CARTHA- 
GINIAN>^,  ASSYRIANS,  BABYLONIANS,  MEDES  AND 
PERSIANS.  GRECIANS  AND  MACEDONIANS.  Including 
a  History  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences  of  the  Ancients.  By 
Charles  Rollin.  With  a  Life  of  tlie  Author,  by  Jamks 
3ell.    2  vols.,  royal  8vo.    Sheep,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $6.00. 


PORTER  &  COATES'    PUBLICATIONS. 


COOKERY  FROM  EXPERIENCE.  A  Practical  Guide  for  House- 
keepers iu  the  Preparation  of  Every-day  Meals,  coutaining 
more  thau  One  Thousand  Domestic  Recipes,  mostly  tested  by 
Personal  Experience,  with  Suggestions  for  Meals,  Lists  of 
Meats  and  Vegetables  in  Season,  etc.  By  Mrs.  Saka  T.  Paul. 
12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  hlack  and  gold,  $1.50. 
Interleaved  Edition.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.75. 

THE  COMPARATIVE  EDITION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENt. 
Both  Versions  iu  One  Book. 

The  proof  readings  of  our  Comparative  Edition  have  been  gone 
over  ))y  so  many  competent  proof  readers,  that  we  believe  the  text 
is  absolutely  correct. 

Large  12mo!,  700  pp.  Cloth,  extra,  plain  edges,  $1.50;  cloth, 
extra,  bevelled  boards  and  carmine  edges, $1.75 ;  imitation  panelled 
calf,  yellow  edges,  $2.00;  arabesi|ue,  gilt  edges,  $2.50;  Frencli  mo- 
rocco, limp,  gilt  edges,  $4.00;  Turkey  morocco,  limp,  gilt  edges, 
$6.00. 

The  Comparative  New  Testament  lias  been  pnl)b>liecl  by  Porter  &  Coates. 
In  jiarallel  enliimns  on  eaeli  page  are  given  the  old  and  new  versions  of  the 
Testament,  divided  also  as  far  as  practicable  into  conii)arative  verses,  >o  that 
it  is  almost  impossible  for  the  slightest  new  word  to  escape  the  notice  of 
either  tlie  ordinary  reader  or  the  analytical  student.  It  is  decid^^dly  the 
best  edition  yet  published  of  tbe  most  interest-exciting  lUerary  production 
of  the  day.  No  more  convenient  form  lor  compaiison  could  be  devised 
either  for  economizing  time  or  labor.  Another  feature  is  tlie  foot-notes, 
and  there  is  also  given  iu  an  appendix  the  various  words  and  expressions 
preferred  by  the  American  members  of  the  Revising  Commission.  The 
work  is  handsomely  printed  on  excellent  paper  with  clear,  legible  type.  It 
contains  nearly  '00  pages. 

THE  COUNT  OF  MONTE  CRISTO.  By  Alexandke  Dumas. 
Complete  in  one  volume,  with  two  illustrations  by  George  G. 
White.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.25. 

THE  THREE  GUARDSMEN.  By  Alexandre  Dumas.  Com- 
plete in  one  volume,  with  two  illustratious  by  George  G. 
White.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  .$1.25. 

There  is  a  magic  influence  in  his  pen,  a  magnetic  attraction  in  hisdescrip- 
tions,  a  fertility  in  his  literary  resources  which  are  chara<teristic  of  Dumas 
alone,  and  the  seal  of  the  master  of  light  literature  is  set  upon  all  his  works. 
Even  when  not  strictly  historical,  his  romances  give  an  insight  into  the 
habits  and  modes  of  thought  and  action  of  the  people  of  the  time  described, 
■which  are  not  offered  in  any  otlier  author's  productions. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII.  By  Sir  Edward  Bulwer 
Lytton,  Bart.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and 
gold,  .$1.00.     Alta  edition,  one  illustration,  75  cts. 

JANE  EYRE.  By  Charlotte  Bronte  (Currer  Bell).  New  Li- 
brary Edition.  With  five  illustrations  by  E.  M.  Wimpeeis. 
12mo.    Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.00. 

SHIRLEY.  By  Charlotte  Bronte  (Currer  Bell).  New  Library 
Edition.  With  five  illustratious  by  E.  M.  WiMPERls.  12mo. 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.00. 


PORTER  &  COAXES     PUBLICATION'S. 


VILLETTE.  By  Chaklotte  Bronte  (Currer  Bell).  New  Library 
Edition.  Willi  five  illustrations  by  E.  M.  WuirEKls.  12uio. 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  5^1.00. 

THE  PROFESSOR,  EMMA  and  POEMS.    By  Charlotte  Bronte 

(Currer  Bell).  New  Library  Edition.  With  live  illustnitioni 
bv  E.  M.  WiMPERis.    1-,'nio.    Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  -SI.OU. 

Cldth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  per  set,  $4.00;  red  cloth,  paper 
]abel,  gilt  top,  uncut  edges,  per  set,  $5.00 ;  half  calf,  gilt,  per  .set, 
$12.00!  The  four  volumes  forming  the  complete  works  of  Char- 
lotte Bronte  (Currer  Bell). 

The  wondrous  power  of  Currer  Bell's  stories  cousists  in  their  fiery  insight 
into  the  liuman  lieart,  their  merciless  dissection  of  passion,  and  th>-ir  stern 
analysis  of  character  and  motive.  The  style  of  these  productions  possesses 
incredible  force,  sometimes  almost  grim  in  its  bare  seventy,  then  rehvpsuig 
into  passages  of  melting  pathos-always  direct,  natural,  and  effective  ii\  its 
unpretending  strength.  They  exhibit  tlie  idemity  which  always  belongs  to 
worlds  of  genius  hy  the  same  author,  though  without  tlie  slightest  approach 
to  monotODV.  The  cliaraelers  portrayed  by  Currer  Bell  all  have  a  strongly 
marked  ind"ividualitv.  Once  brought  before  the  imagination,  they  haunt 
tne  memory  like  a  strange  dream.  The  sinewy,  muscular  strength  of  her 
writings  guarantees  their  permanent  duration,,  and  thus  far  they  have  lost 
nothing  o"f  their  intensity  of  interest  since  the  period  of  Iheir  composition. 

CAPTAIN  JACK  THE  SCOUT;  or,  The  Indian  Wars  about  Old 

Fort   Duquesne.      An  Historical  Novel,  with    copious  notes. 

By  Charles  McKnight.     Illustrated  with  eight  engravings. 

l-imo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50. 

A  work  of  such  rare  meiit  and  thrilling  interest  as  to  have  been  repuVi- 

lislied  both  in  England  and  (Jermany.    This   genuine  American   historical 

work  has  been  received  witli   extraordinary  popular  favor,  and  has  "won 

golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people"  for  its  freshness,  its  forest  life,  and 

its  fidelity  to  truth.    In  many  instances  it  even  corrects  History  and  uses 

the  drapery  of  fiction  simply  to  enliven  and  illustrate  the  fact. 

It  is  a  universal  favorite  with  both  sexes,  and  with  all  aL'cs  and  condi- 
tions, and  is  not  only  proving  a  marked  and  notable  success  in  this  country, 
but  has  been  eagerly  taken  up  abroad  and  republished  in  London,  England, 
and  issued  iu  two  volumes  in  the  far-lamed  "  Tauchuelz  Edition  "  of  Leipsic, 
Germany. 

ORANGE  BLOSSOMS,  FRESH  AND  FADED.  By  T.  S.  Arthur. 
Illustrated.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50. 

"Orange  Blossoms"  contains  a  number  of  short  stories  of  society.  Like 
all  of  Mr.  Arthur's  works,  it  has  a  special  moral  purpose,  and  is  especially 
addressed  to  the  young  who  have  just  entered  the  marital  experience,  whom 
it  pleasantly  warns  against  those  social  and  moral  pitfalls  into  which  they 
may  almost  innocently  plunge. 

THE  BAR  ROOMS  AT  BRANTLEY;  or,  The  Great  Hotel  Spec- 
ulation.  Bv  T.  S.  Arthur.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra, 
black  and  gold,  $1.50. 

"  One  of  the  best  temperance  stories  recently  issued."— iV.  Y.  Commercial 
Adivriiser. 

"Although  it  is  in  the  form  of  a  novel,  its  truthful  delineation  of  charac- 
ters is  such  that  in  every  village  in  the  land  you  meet  the  broken  manhood 
it  pictures  upon  the  streets,  and  look  upon  sad.  tear-<iimmed  eyes  of  women 
and  children.  The  characters  are  not  overdrawn,  hut  are  as  truthful  as  an 
artist's  pencil  could  make  tht:m."—Jnier-Oceaii,  Ckicago. 


!0  PORTER  &  COATES'   PUBLICATIONS. 


EMMA.  By  Jane  Austen.  Illustrated.  i2mo.  Cloth,  extra. 
$1.25.  ' 

MANSFIELD  PARK.  By  Jane  Austen.  Illustrated.  12ma 
Cloth,  extra,  $1.25, 

PEIDE  AXD  PEEJUDICE;  and  Northanger  Abbev.  By  Janb 
Austen.    Illustrated.    12mo.    Cloth,  extra,  $1.25. 

SEXSE  AND  SENSIBILITY;  and  Persuasion.  By  Jane  Austen. 
Illustrated.    12mo.    Cloth,  extra,  $1.25. 

The  four  volumes,  forminpj  the  complete  works  of  Jane  Austen, 
in  a  neat  box:  Cloth,  extra,  per  set,  $5.00 ;  red  cloth,  paper  label, 
gilt  top,  uncut  edges,  $5.00;  half  calf,  gilt,  per  set,  $12.00. 

"Jane  Austen,  a  woman  of  whom  England  is  justly  proud.  In  her  novels 
sh«  lias  given  us  a  multitude  of  cliaracters,  all,  in  a  certain  .sense,  common- 
place, all  such  as  we  meet  everyday.  Yet  they  are  all  as  perfectly  discrimi- 
nated from  each  other  as  if  they  were  the  most  eccentric  of  Iiumaii  heings. 
....  And  almost  all  this  is  done  hy  touchrs  so  delicate  that  they  elude 
analysis,  that  they  defy  tlie  powers  of  description,  and  that  we  know  them 
to  exist  only  tiy  the  general  etfect  to  which  they  have  contributed." — Ma- 
caulai/'s  Essays. 

AET  AT  HOME.  Containing  in  one  volume  House  Decoration, 
by  Ehoda  and  Agnes  Garrett  ;  Plea  for  Art  in  the  House, 
by  W.  J.  Loi<'TIe;  Music,  by  John  Hullah;  and  Dress,  by 
Mrs.  Oliphant.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50. 

TOM   BEOWN'S   SCHOOL   DAYS   AT   EUGBY.     By   Thomas 
Hughes.     New  Edition,  large  clear  type.     With  36  illustra- 
tions after  Caldecott  and  others.     12mo.,  400  pp.     Cloth,  extra, 
black  and  gold,  $1.25;  half  calf,  gilt,  $2.75. 
Alta  Edition.    One  illustration,  75  cents. 

"It  is  difl5eult  to  estimate  the  amount  of  good  which  may  be  done  by 
'Tom  Brown's  School  Pays.'  It  gives,  in  the  main,  a  most  faithful  and 
interesting  )iicture  of  our  puhlio  schools,  the  most  English  Institutions  of 
England,  and  which  educate  the  hest  and  most  powerful  elements  in  our 
upper  classes.  But  it  is  more  tliaii  tliis;  it  is  an  attempt,  a  very  noble  and 
successful  attempt,  to  Christianize  the  society  of  our  youth,  through  the 
only  practicable  channel — hearty  and  brotherly  sympathy  with  their  feel- 
ings; a  book,  in  short,  which  a  father  might  well  wish  to  see  in  the  hands 
of  his  son." — London  Times. 

TOM  BEOWN  AT  OXFORD.  Bv  Thomas  Hughes.  Illustrated. 
12mo.    Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50 ;   half  calf,  gilt,  $3.00. 

"Fairlv  entitled  to  the  rank  and  dignity  of  an  English  classic.  Plot,  style 
and  truthfulness  are  of  the  soundest  British  character.  Racy,  idiomatic, 
mirror-like,  always  interesting,  suggesting  thought  on  the  knottiest  social 
and  religious  questions,  now  desply  moving  by  its  unconscious  iiathos,  and 
anon  Inspiring  uproarious  laughter,  it  is  a  Work  the  world  will  not  willingly 
let  die." — N.  Y.  Chriitian  Advocate. 


PORTER   &  COATES'   PUBLICATIONS.  11 


8EXSIBLE  ETIQUETTE  OF  THE  BEST  SOCIETY.  By  Mrs. 
H.  O.  Wakd.  Customs,  mauucrs,  morals,  and  home  culture, 
with  suggestious  how  to  word  uotes  and  letters  of  invitations, 
ai'ceptances,  and  regrets,  and  general  instructions  as  to  calls, 
rules,  for  watering  places,  lunches,  kettle  drums,  dinners,  re- 
ceptions, weddings,  parties,  dress,  toilet  and  manners,  saluta- 
tions, introductions,  social  reforms,  etc..  etc.  Bound  in  cloth, 
with  gilt  edge,  and  sent  by  mail,  postage  paid,  ou  receipt  of 
$2.00. 

LADIES'  AND  GENTLEMEN'S  ETIQUETTE:  A  Complete 
Manual  of  the  Manners  aud  Dress  of  American  Society.  Coa- 
tainiug  forms  of  Letters,  Invitations,  Acceptances,  and  Kegrets. 
With  a  copious  index.  By  E.  B.  Duffey.  12mo.  Cloth, 
extra,  black  aud  gold,  $1.50. 

"It  is  peculiarly  an  American  book,  especially  adapted  to  our  people,  and 
its  greatest  beauty  is  found  iu  the  fact  that  in  every  line  and  precept  it  in- 
culcates ih?  prinoipl.'S  of  true  politeness,  instead  of  those  formal  rules  that 
serve  only  to  gild  the  surface  without  affecting  the  substance.  It  is  admir- 
ably written,  the  style  being  clear,  terse,  aud  lorcible."— ^S.  Louis  Times. 

THE  UXDEKGROUND  CITY;  or.  The  Child  of  the  Cavern. 
By  Jules  Ykrne.  Translated  from  the  French  by  W.  H. 
KiXGSTOX.  With  43  illustrations.  Standard  Edition.'  12mo. 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50. 

AEOUND  THE  WOELD  IN  EIGHTY  DAYS.  By  Jules  Yerne. 
Translated  by  Geo.  M.  Towle.  With  12  full-page  illustrations. 
12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  aud  gold,  $1.25. 

A.T  THE  NORTH  POLE ;  or,  The  Voyages  and  Adventures  of 
Captain  Hatteras.  By  Jules  Yeexe.  With  130  illustrations 
by  Eiou.  Standard  Edition.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  aud 
gold,  $1.25. 

THE  DESERT  OF  ICE;  or,  The  Further  Adventures  of  Captain 
Hatteras.  By  Jules  Verne.  With  126  illustrations  by  Riou. 
Standard  Edition.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  §1.25. 

TWENTY  THOUSAND  LEAGUES  UNDER  THE  SEAS;  or. 
The  Marvellous  and  Exciting  Adventures  of  Pierre  Aronnax, 
Conseil  his  servant,  and  Ned  Land,  a  Canadian  Harpooner.  By 
Jules  Verne.  Standard  Edition.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Cloth, 
extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.25. 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  CHANCELLOR.  Diary  of  J.  R.  Kazallon, 
Passenger,  and  Martin  Paz.  By  Jules  Verne.  Translated 
from  the  French  by  Ellen  Frewer.  With  10  illustrations. 
Standard  Editiou.     12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.25. 

Jules  Verne  is  so  well  known  that  the  mere  announcement  of  anythicg 
from  his  pea  is  -iifBcifnt  to  create  a  demand  for  It.  One  of  his  chief  merits 
is  the  wonderful  art  with  wWch  he  lays  under  contribution  every  branch  of 
science  and  natural  history,  while  he  vividly  describes  with  minute  exact- 
ness all  parts  of  the  world  and  its  iubabitaQta. 


12  PORTER  &  COATES'   PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS;  or,  Mirth  and  Marvels.  By 
KicHAED  Harris  Barham  (Thomas  Ingoldsby,  Esq.).  New 
edition,  printed  from  entirely  new  stereotype  jjlatcs.  Illus- 
trated. 12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.50;  half  calf, 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  $3.00. 

"Of  his  poetical  powers  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  for  originality  of 
design  and  diction,  for  grand  illustiation  and  musical  verse,  they  ar«  not 
surpassed  in  the  English  language.  The  Witches'  Fnilic  is  second  only  to 
Tarn  O'Shaiiter.  But  why  recapitulate  the  titles  of  either  prose  or  verse- 
since  they  have  been  coufess^d  by  every  judgment  to  be  singularly  rich  in 
classic  allusion  and  modern  illustration.  From  the  days  of  Hudibras  to  our 
time  the  drollery  invested  in  rhymes  has  never  been  so  amply  or  felicitously 
exemplified.' — Bentley^s  Miscellany. 

TEN  THOUSAND  A  YEAR.  By  Samuel  C.  Warren,  author  of 
"The  Diary  of  a  Loudon  Physician."  Anew  edition,  care- 
fully revised,  with  three  illustrations  by  George  G.  White. 
12mo.     Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1  50. 

"Mr,  Warren  has  taken  a  lasting  place  among  the  imaginative  writers  of 
this  period  of  English  history.  He  possesses,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  the 
tenderness  of  heart  and  vividness  of  feeling,  as  well  as  powers  of  description, 
whicli  are  essential  to  the  delineation  of  the  pathrtic,  and  which,  when 
existing  in  the  degree  in  which  he  enjoys  them,  fill  his  pages  with  scenes 
which  can  never  be  forgotten." — -Sir  Archibald  Alison. 

THOMPSON'S  POLITICAL  ECONOMY;  With  Especial  Eefer- 
ence  to  the  Industrial  History  of  Nations.  By  Prof.  R.  E. 
Thompson,  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  12mo.  Cloth, 
extra,  $1.50. 

This  book  possesses  an  especial  interest  at  the  present  moment.  The 
questions  of  Free  Trade  and  Protection  are  before  the  country  more  directly 
than  at  any  earlier  period  of  our  history.  As  a  rule  the  works  and  text- 
books used  in  our  American  colleges  are  either  of  English  origin  or  teach 
Doctrines  of  a  polilical  economy  which,  as  Walter  Bagehot  says,  was  made 
for  England.  Prof.  Tlionipson  belongs  to  the  Nationalist  School  of  Econo- 
mists, to  which  Alexander  Hamilton,  Tench  Coxe,  Henry  Clay,  Matthew 
Carey,  and  his  greater  son,  Henry  C.  Carey,  Stephen  Cohvell,  and  James 
Abram  Garfield  were  adherents.  He  believes  in  that  poley  of  Protection 
to  Auiericau  industry  which  has  had  the  sanction  of  every  great  Americaa 
statesman,  not  excepting  Thomas  Jefferson  and  John  C.  Calhiuin.  He  makes 
his  appeal  to  history  in  defence  of  that  policy,  showing  that  wherever  a 
weaker  or  less  advanced  country  has  practiced  Free  Trade  with  one  more 
powerful  or  richer,  the  former  has  lost  its  industries  as  well  as  its  money, 
and  has  become  econonaieally  dependent  on  the  latter.  Those  who  wish 
to  learn  what  is  the  real  source  of  Irish  poverty  and  discontent  will  find  it 
here  stated  fully. 

The  method  of  the  book  is  historical.  It  is  therefore  no  series  of  dry  and 
abstract  reasonings,  such  as  repel  readers  from  books  of  this  cla-s.  The 
writer  does  not  rid-  the  a  priori  nag,  and  say  "this  luust  be  so,"  aii<l  "  that 
must  bo  conceded."  He  shows  what  has  been  true,  and  seeks  to  elicit  the 
laws  of  the  science  from  the  experience  of  the  world.  The  book  overflows 
with  facts  told  in  an  interesting  manner. 

THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE  IN  ITS  THREE  HOMES,  and  the 
Practical  Bearings  of  general  European  History.  By  Edward 
A.  Freeman,  LL.D.,  Author  of  the  "  Norman  Conquest  of 
England."    12mo.    Cloth,  extra>  Sl.75. 


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